Free to Be
by HunnybadgerV
Summary: With the end of the world Remy McGinnis finds herself up against an enemy like that she's never really faced before-herself. She knows why Earth is gone. She knows how vengeance works. But along the way to repaying blood for blood she learns some things about life and about herself along the way.
1. Revelations

**Summary: **With the end of the world Remy McGinnis finds herself up against an enemy like that she's never really faced before-herself. She knows why Earth is gone. She knows how vengeance works. But along the way to repaying blood for blood she learns some things about life and about herself along the way.

**Chapter Summary:** Four humans alive and aware. That's all that's left of Earth. The boss, Keith, Kinzie, and Matt struggle to find the balance, struggle to come to terms with the loss of everything, and try to find a way to push toward the next impossible goal looming on the horizon.

And thanks to Jae and Chy for reading parts and pieces of these early chapters. And thanks to Chy for the title idea-hugs and kisses galore.

**a/n: **This piece will side toward a more serious storytelling approach. There may still be zany moments of fun, but I will not guarantee that this piece will follow the exact same type of experience as the games offer.

_Disclaimer_: Saint's Row belongs to THQ, Volition, and Deep Silver. I'm only playing with their universe. I do not own the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. I do it for the love of the game, the world, and the characters; and because they stuck with me long after I turned the game off (and back on, and off, ad infinitum).

* * *

**Free to Be**

**01 Revelations**

**-1-**

* * *

The stars were bright from the vantage point on the bridge of the Zin ship Kinzie Kensington had stolen. Remy McGinnis could not find it in herself to be upset that the computer whiz had dug the vice president out of the simulation first. The President was well aware of the way people saw her. It was an image carefully crafted from the first time she was called _mick_ in kindergarten. Admittedly of the slurs and terms people could use on one another, it was fairly tame, but no one likes to be distinguished by that which clearly denotes them as other, especially if it is something out of their control. So, she found her own collection of "others" and they formed a protective collection of outsiders-essentially making them all the same. Over and over in her life she found and reformed that surrogate family, the place where the only thing that mattered was the color of the flag you wore. Since she was seventeen, that flag had been the same. A Saint was a Saint-they were all purple, they were all family. At least in her mind, that was how things were.

She knew it was idealistic and simplistic. But that was what had drawn her to the life in the first place. Remy McGinnis grew up in Mission Beach, her grandfather ran a little crew of mostly Irish immigrants and their children in the neighborhood. The crew formed only because of the multiple gangs and cops trying to shake down honest businessmen. Her grandfather Patrick saw it get so bad that some businesses were on the verge of closing because of the sheer amount of protection money they were having to pay out to every crooked cop and two-bit thug in a ten block radius. So, McGinnises stood up, and others with them.

Her uncle Ian McGinnis was your typical enforcer, breaking fingers, arms, and kneecaps. Her father was something altogether different. Her father, Liam, had spent time in the service-he was a crack shot and had combat experience he preferred not to talk about. When he came home, he tried to settle down and just run the garage that had been his father's, but life intervened, as it usually does.

Loss is a powerful catalyst. It can drop a person into a bottomless chasm or give them the will and drive to leap that break. For Remy, it had always been the latter. Loss had always pushed her to vengeance and reprisal, but then most of her loss had been caused not by the nameless and faceless, but by man. The cause of her loss usually had an address where she could locate it and return the favor, as was the case this time.

The only difference was that this time she did not know if she could deal a blow that would make up for what was gone, though if she was honest with herself vengeance was never as sweet in practice as it was in theory. Repaying a debt of blood was great for those with an overdeveloped sense of honor. But no amount of blood brought back what you had lost.

In a lot of ways, the Saints' boss knew that this fight would be different. Her battle against the Zin would not be comparable to killing Shogo, Jyunichi, and the Oyabun after Aisha's death, it would not even match the symbolism of literally crushing Philippe Loren like the insect he was after losing Johnny on that fucking plane.

Remy scrubbed her hands through her hair and looked out at the debris, it looked like an asteroid field in that stupid video game her brother played, except that some of the pieces still had molten rivulets skimming over their surface. No number of Zin bodies would make up for the lives lost. Cutting Zinyak's cocky head from his body would not bring Earth back. But that was precisely what McGinnis intended to do just before she blew his wrinkly carcass out of an airlock. She just did not know how to deal with her own part of all of it.

**-2-**

* * *

The boss had been segregating herself since the atomization of Earth. No one on the ship blamed her. But in their own ways, they were all concerned. Her time was spent either plugged into the simulation or staring off at the debris field that remained. Since the blast Keith and Kinzie had both tried to probe her state of mind. But the boss was stoic, and removed. She gave them nothing.

The vice president and the former FBI agent were once again whispering about McGinnis: speculating about how long Remy could keep up the pace, worrying that she only really slept when she passed out from near exhaustion, and questioning if there was anything they could do for their friend. Matt Miller knew that they were all reeling from the destruction of the Earth; he was still rocked by the fact that _everything_ was gone except the people on this ship and whoever else might have been abducted by the Zin.

His own reaction had been similar to Remy's; he found a quiet place where people would leave him alone and buried himself in the one thing he could do. He went to the code and the technology, while she went to mayhem and destruction-albeit of a much less visceral type than she was used to. On his rare excursions out of the cargo hold, Miller had caught sight of her, trying to keep her strength up in whatever ways she could. Too often the only sound in the ship was the recurring slap of her knuckles on the leather of the heavy bag as she brutally fought whatever demons were eating at her at the moment.

That was something else, they were all keenly aware of. Keith and Kinzie had heard it firsthand, but Matt had found out by digging through recordings and information in the systems that Kensington hadn't cleaned out yet. Zinyak had told her this would happen if she escaped. But she had done it anyway.

It was hard for him to reconcile. Matt had been party to her self-sacrifice on the mission against Cyrus Temple. He had also seen her put herself on the line in other missions, for much scantier payoffs than preventing an all out nuclear war. He shook his head again at the idea that cropped up. Remy would not have pushed back against the Zin if she thought there was even the remotest chance that would actually happen. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on his part.

The whistling of the kettle relaxed him slightly.

"I just really wish she would sleep more than a few hours," Kinzie sighed. She sounded just as tired as the rest of them. None of them were sleeping well, the boss least of all. "She's going to run herself dry in a few days, if she doesn't ease back."

Overhearing that statement jogged Matt's brain. His eyes darted around the little kitchen area and he grinned triumphantly when he managed to find everything he would need, mostly. The hacker pulled another mug out the cabinet and prepared the concoction before pouring the hot water over the tea bag and other ingredients. With a shrug, he decided that he could probably benefit from the relaxing properties of the centuries old drink as well.

Kinzie and Keith were huddled in a corner of the big rumpus room, and Matt skittered by as quickly as possible hoping not to draw any undue attention. Though they had worked together a dozen or more times since the Temple mission, the tall lanky MI-6 agent had no illusions about his association with any of the people on this ship. When it all boiled down, he knew that Kinzie still saw him as the punk kid who had framed her and tried to kill the boss, more than once. Peace offering or not, he knew it was just as likely that, given the President's current state of sleep deprivation, he could end up a pink smear on the bulkhead for his action, or McGinnis could just smile and nod without a word.

With an audible swallow, he entered the flight center of the ship. Remy was sitting in the same seat she always did, though this time she was leaning forward staring at nothing.

_You can do this. Surely she won't kill you with a coffee mug. You could still be of use,_ he reasoned successfully enough for his body to finally comply with his wishes and cross the room. She did not even look at him, or acknowledge him in any way until he set the mug down.

It took a minute for the faint hint of cinnamon and lemon to reach her, or at least he guessed that might have been the reason she finally looked up at him with her brow knitted with questions she did not voice.

"My mum made these in winter," he said with a little gesture of his own mug. It did not taste as good as his mother's, but then he had not looked very hard for the ingredients. Even so he doubted he could find cloves or cinnamon sticks in any of the crates in the back of the ship; he felt lucky to have found the lemon, honey, and, surprisingly, Irish whiskey. The ground cinnamon was pure chance, and it wasn't a totally horrible addition.

"What is it?" she asked, her voice gravelly.

It was in that moment he realized that outside of the simulation he had not heard her voice since she rescued him. He had not really heard her speak to anyone since just after he came on board. She had stored Kinzie's robot. _Or power armor as the former fed pretentiously called it, _he could not help but think. Then Remy had come looking for him. It had been a kind gesture, she actually talked to him for a few minutes-asked him how he felt, told him the nausea would subside after about a day, she said that he could feel free to stake claim to a place that made him comfortable but that Kinzie and CID had already kind of taken up residence in certain sections of the ship.

"Don't laugh," he prefaced. _Such a silly name_. "A Hot Toddy. Tea, lemon, honey, whiskey, and a little cinnamon."

She picked up the cup and held it in both hands. Matt held his breath as she took a sip, but she did not comment. Remy leaned over the cup as if huddling over a fire, as if somehow trying to absorb the warmth from the ceramic or the wispy steam.

"It's really not too bad," he insisted. "I mean it is not as good as my mum's but I did the best I could with what I had."

Her eyes met his again, her gaze sharp, causing him to realize the mistake in what he had said.

"I'm sorry," Matt stammered worried he had upset her. He really did not want to die by tea cup.

The President shook her head. "No, it's fine. Sorry, and thank you for the … uh … I'm just going to call it tea."

"Understandable."

"Your mom made you these?"

"Very rarely. But always on Christmas Eve and New Years. And on really cold nights, as long as there was no school the next day. Though she never put a whole shot in mine back then, of course."

"I'm guessing I got a whole shot?" Remy queried with a sly little smile as she took another sip.

It was the same impish grin she had regularly cast at him when she had tried to teach him to shoot better. It that was years ago, Asha had mentioned his barely passing his evaluation, and Remy swore she could teach anyone to shoot. From what he discovered later, the stakes of the bet were pretty high, and sadly Remy ended up losing the money in the end, though his score had improved the next time Matt qualified.

"Two," Matt replied, smiling at her over his own mug.

The laugh was light, feint, and barely hung on the air before it ended, but it had been there. Her smile, however, lingered, brightening her eyes for a time. They talked about the tea, about the whiskey, about nothing that was happening beyond that space and that moment. Neither of them was in a place to even broach any of the other topics swirling around that space with anyone else yet.

Matt did not understand how she could be in that room. He had glimpsed out the window twice and each time felt his stomach twist in nausea and pain, after that he kept his gaze fixed on her. She was the only safe thing in the room he could look at without his mind taking him down a questionably dark path. He was feeling it, the loss, the grief. Questions nagged at him, and something told him she was in a much darker place than he was.

When she yawned widely, covering her mouth with the back of her hand, Matt could not help the little curve in his lips. _Maybe it's working. Maybe she'll give in and sleep_. That had been his intention. Deliver a little comfort and maybe even a little much needed slumber.

"Sorry about that," she said before raising her mug again. The angle she lifted it clearly suggested she finished off the concoction he had prepared her.

"You really should try to get some rest. The simulation can be just as draining on the body as the real world," he cautioned as carefully as he could manage.

"I've been noticing that. At first it just seemed like it was just some elaborate dream," Remy noted as she turned the cup around in her hand, watching her own manipulation of the object.

"It was the same way with the chair back in Stilwater, it was incredibly demanding on the body. This is a little bit worse because of how the code works." Matt paused a moment when her pale blue eyes met his. After a quick deep breath, he continued, "The ability to modify the code of your virtual self actually places more strain."

"So the more I exert myself in the simulation, the more I'm going to feel it out here."

Matt nodded. "In a manner of speaking, yes. Eventually your body will get used to it and it will be like second nature, but it will take some time for you to acclimate to it."

"You seemed to take to it pretty easily," she observed as she leaned forward, studying him.

"I've been doing things like this longer than I probably should have," Matt admitted, setting his empty mug on the console he was leaning against. He cast a nervous little grin at her as he crossed his arms over his chest; she continued to look at him like she was studying him. "I'm used to this type of interface. It's a little different from the NEMO chair, but not dramatically so."

"What do I need to do?"

"How do you mean?"

"Build stamina? Strength? Is there some kind of thing … activity, maybe, that I can do? Something that will make this all easier?" she asked, staring at him with a look that revealed the tension she was feeling. There was also a palpable note of desperation in her voice.

He shook his head, and felt bad that there was no solution he could offer her. "There is nothing outside of using the device. But you have to be careful. Too long is just going to strain you. Not long enough and it won't help you build up the connection you need."

For a long time Remy just looked at him, he could see it in her eyes-her mind mulling over the information, weighing all the factors, searching for a decision, a solution.

"Fuck!" she called as she spun out of the chair and paced away from him. Once on the other side of the room she stopped and rubbed at her forehead. "How do you know how long?"

"For?"

"What's the window for interaction? Where's this sweet spot between connection and exhaustion?" she queried with a glance over her shoulder.

"Hard to tell. It would be different for everyone. You usually see it in the vitals."

The half-smile was mischievous and seemed to signal a decision. "Think you can find that sweet spot?"

Matt shrugged and shook his head. "Probably."

McGinnis crossed to him quickly and took his face in her hands as she grinned at him. His breath caught in his throat as he stared down into her eyes, bright with determination. "Good. Then that settles it. You find my sweet spot, and we'll build up the endurance and get this alien bastard in his own house." She patted his cheek, with a wink, then stepped away.

The self-proclaimed cyber god took a long slow breath when she released him. He was not sure this was precisely how he had planned on all this to go. Matt rather hoped that he would leave her on the sandman's doorstep instead he managed to prime her for another pass at the simulation.

"Can we start this now?" she asked as she crossed toward the door.

"It would be best to start with you in a rested state," he said in an attempt to quell her enthusiasm, and perhaps convince her to try to get a little sleep. "With you tired, the readings could be skewed or completely off normal."

Remy nodded for a moment. "You might be right."

Miller grabbed both the mugs he had brought to the bridge. The President slipped back into the chair she had been sitting in when he entered. Uncertain if anything else he said would do more harm than good, the MI-6 agent ducked out of the bridge.

"Thanks again, Matt," she called after him.

"Any time," he replied more honestly than he initially realized.

**-3-**

* * *

Kinzie narrowed her eyes at the pair of them-Remy in the simulator, staring at the ceiling; Miller at the controls, regularly glancing over at the boss. McGinnis had entered from the bridge, where she hid out whenever she was on the ship. Maybe it was wrong to describe it that way, but that was how it felt-Remy was segregating herself from them. The boss had always had a thing for her privacy, but this reaction was starting to seem almost like self-imposed exile as opposed to healthy alone time.

Then there was _Matt Miller_. _Ugh_. Just thinking his name, made bile rise in Kensington's stomach. The _venerated MI-6 agent_ skulked around in the bowels of the ship. Kinzie realized he was down there avoiding everyone, not that she could blame him. She alone disliked him enough for the entire crew, if any of them …

Kinzie shook her head clear. _Those types of thoughts are off limits. The boss needs you on your game. Focus!_

She took a deep breath and looked across the room. Remy did not acknowledge either of them; she had just walked to the interface device and stepped in. As Matt closed the device and set the link, Kinzie shrugged in an attempt to relax some of the tension in her shoulders. For the last few days, every time the boss went into the simulation Miller hovered. She did not understand why he was there, in the interface hub or on the ship period. Kinzie did not know why Remy had insisted that they locate _Matt Miller_ before the others; and she certainly did not get why, all of the sudden, the boss insisted on him being around when she uploaded.

It did not help that McGinnis was still keeping people at arm's length, not that she had not always done that to some extent, but it felt different now. While she always kept to herself, she at least shared her motives with and took counsel from … well, all of her people. And right now the boss was more closed off than she had ever been, to Kinzie's recollection. They needed to get this done, they needed the boss … she needed the boss to … Kinzie screwed her eyes closed tight against the thought of it. _No, you will not go there right now. You will maintain your decorum. You will keep it together_.

The cringe at Miller's approach made her shiver at her own dislike of the hacker. In a way she understood that Remy was trying to help her by bringing him on board, and doing so that soon. But it was strange to be working _with _him. She still did not trust him, no matter what his MI-6 file said. Her eyes fluttered from her console to his as he tapped up readings from the simulation and then pulled up another graphic.

_Are those? What the hell?_ She quickly checked the mic. _Off. Good_. She turned to Miller quickly. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Trying to help," he said, without even a glance in her direction.

"And why are you monitoring the President's vitals?" she charged with an accusatory tone.

"What?" Keith echoed from the doorway. He closed on the console quickly. "You better have a really good explanation for this, kid."

Matt pushed his chair back away from the console with his hands held up as if someone had pulled a gun on him. "I've heard you both talking. And I agreed that she was spending way too much time in the simulator. So, I kind of"-he tilted his head from side to side-"fabricated a reason to get her to limit her load-in time."

"What?" Kinzie shrilled. _Fucking unbelievable bastard. Lying to the boss. Trying to help_ … Then it hit her like a brick to the forehead. He was trying to help. He was actually trying to help them all. And Remy had been limiting her time in the simulation. The last three times she went in was for less than six hours, and the boss was actually looking a little less haggard, though the dark puffiness under her eyes still suggested she was barely sleeping.

"If we're going to get out of this at all, we need the President. And it's like you said Kinzie, at the pace she was going, she would kill herself before the Zin would even get a real chance at her."

Turning quickly she crossed her arms over her chest and hugged herself tightly for a moment. _Fucking Matt Miller. What right does he have? Being all … human. Goddamnit!_ She reviled the fact that he was making it harder for her to hate him. Kinzie tapped her foot absently for a moment. He was her fucking arch nemesis and he was making himself almost likeable. _Asshole!_

"What did you do?" Kensington queried. Her brow arched in suspicion as she eyed him, while the vice president continued to look imposing and intimidating. The former FBI agent tried not to smile at the effective combination the two of them seemed to make.

Matt rubbed at his neck nervously. _Good. He's uncomfortable_. She liked that the two of them had him concerned.

"I just mentioned that acclimating to the simulation and that very different type of activity, might happen more effectively if she limited her time. Told her to think of it like training her body," Matt admitted, looking from one to the other of them.

"Go on," Keith prompted.

"I might have suggested there was a point when her body reached that ideal attunement. And I told her that anything past that window was more detrimental than helpful."

Kinzie stared at him agape. "You lied to the boss?"

"No," he stammered. Miller leaned toward them, gesticulating vibrantly as he tried to explain. "I didn't lie. It's true, mostly. Kind of. Like with the NEMO chairs, there's a point when it is just too much mentally and physically. I'm not sure if these devices are exactly the same yet. But they seem to work along the same lines. So I inferred a hypothesis."

He looked from Keith David back to Kinzie, then his shoulders slumped and he leaned back in his chair, letting his hands fall into his lap. "I just wanted to help. I thought…" Matt trailed off, shaking his head.

Kinzie had been taking watch too much joy out of Miller's reaction. He actually looked frightened. But the defeated look on his face as he slumped back into the chair made her realize that he was in the same boat as the rest of them. She might have been the one to get Keith and the boss out. But none of them were going to be able to do this without Remy. She knew that. The vice president knew that. And it seemed even Matt Miller knew that.

She closed her eyes and shook her head. "I can't believe you lied to the boss," Kinzie said in lieu of anything supportive. She still hated him, mostly. And even if she did not completely hate him, she refused to like him. "If she finds out, she'll probably kill you."

"I am aware," Matt noted, scooting his chair back toward the console.

Keith seemed a little more forgiving. Before he left the room, he patted Miller on the shoulder and quietly said, "You did good, son."

Kinzie could not help but roll her eyes as Matt beamed up at the VP like some idiot fanboy. She redirected her eyes to the code rolling across the screen. Remy seemed oblivious to the fact that they had been ignoring her in favor of intimidating information out of their resident _cyber god_. She scoffed at the mere idea of the title the man to her left had given himself as a boy. The boss' distraction made Kinzie glad that the list of places she had given Remy to hack had her running all over fake Steelport.


	2. Reunions

**Summary: **The boss has to find new and interesting ways to cope with the lack of action aboard the ship. But thankfully her restlessness is quelled when another prison is finally located. Everyone on the ship is trying to find ways to cope with Earth's destruction and the fact that the people on the hijacked Zin vessel are the only humans currently "alive", for all intents and purposes.

**a/n: **Thanks to Jae and Chy for notes and giving some helpful suggestions.

* * *

**Free to Be**

**02 Reunions**

**-1-**

* * *

There was no way around it, CID was creepy-even creepier on the ship than he first had been in the simulation, Remy thought as she eyed the floating metal basketball that seemed to be stalking Kinzie. Any time she shifted, it-he-the boss had no idea what to call the thing-would move in an attempt to remain in the woman's line of sight.

_At least it's Kinzie and not me,_ she thought and immediately felt a little guilty; almost as guilty as when she was powerfully thankful that Josh Birk had latched onto Shaundi. Kinzie and CID had found Matt Miller easily enough, and Remy had honestly expected that adding computer genius number two to the mix would have meant finding her crew would have gone much quicker than it was. The boss shook her head and trotted down the stairs. Her standing over them was not going to help, plus Keith had the looming handled.

All this-the waiting and fruitless searching-was driving her a little crazy. It was exacerbated by the fact that she was virtually useless when it came to all that code nonsense. She could not help them find her friends and to top it all off, it seemed her peak time in the machine only fell between four and six hours, still. McGinnis was beginning to worry that she proving quite useless, it irritated her and left her with much more downtime than she was used to. And it was much more free time than she felt like she could adequately fill-to keep her mind occupied and away from errant contemplation she wandered the ship more than she used to. Her boredom was starting to annoy Kinzie and the others, Remy knew, though Matt seemed to take it in stride, Keith tried to handle her increasing cabin fever too, but the redhead seemed to just sigh at the boss more than usual.

Remy stopped asking why the Zin had the things they did on this ship. It was almost like they were sampling human culture as well as abducting the citizenry of Earth. Maybe it was research for the simulations or maybe there was no reason for it at all and it was just what the Zin did when they set upon a planet. She did, however, take advantage of the things on the ship that would burn off her nervous energy-the weights, the heavy bag, the pool table, and the little device Kinzie had fashioned for her.

More often than not, Remy wound up at the heavy bag, not only because it would wear her out, but also because there were moments when she really just felt like hitting something in the real world and not that digital construct. Of course, that feeling was not just directed at the Zin, but just as often it was directed at herself. Those were the moments when her punches became especially brutal, when Zinyak's taunting seemed to ring in her ears.

Then came the moments she would recall that moment between the bike run and entering Matt's simulation. All those reminders of her mistakes. All those faces from the past, the ones she had failed: Lin, Carlos, Aisha, Johnny. All the ones that were probably left behind in the initial attacks: Oleg, Zimos, Viola. Hell, Josh, even if he was really only good for comic relief and driving Shaundi up a wall.

Remy hit the bag again, then grabbed it and hung onto it tightly. The empty feeling seemed to well within her and press against her very skin like it was trying to crack her open. _Keep it together. You can handle this. You've gotten them back before. This isn't that bad._ She tried to convince herself of this fact often; early on it worked, but this time she was not feeling it. It had been getting harder to believe her own pep talks, though they still seemed to work on the people around her, at least.

Peeling herself off the bag she ducked into the common area on the lower deck and huddled up in a chair, hoping that what had gotten her through her mother's death might work again. When she was a girl, and it all seemed overwhelming, she would curl up someplace enclosed and just literally try to hold herself together. With a wistful smile, she also recalled that a lot of the time her brother was there to help her hold it together. Later that job fell to Johnny.

_Fuck!_ That was not something she needed to add to growing sense of desolation. Remy hugged her knees to her chest and rested her head on her knees, trying to remember that song her mother always played on the piano-that she would hum absently all the time.

**-2-**

* * *

The three of them clattered down the metal stairs and all stopped in the doorway, when they saw Remy curled up in one of the egg-shaped chairs, knees pulled to her chest with her head cradled awkwardly on an arm resting on her knees. Kinzie, Matt, and Keith all looked at each other as if mentally drawing straws to see who would wake the boss, though not one of them wanted that job someone was going to wind up with it.

"Shouldn't we tell the destructive one that we have located another prison?" CID inquired.

"Be my guest," Vice President David said with a welcoming gesture and a thickly sarcastic tone.

With no reservation the floating device hovered across the room. The verbal request went unheard, or so it seemed. The pinkish-purple eye focused on the trio in the door, then turned back to the blonde asleep in the chair. He bumped the chair slightly, which garnered a groan and a blind swat nowhere near the robot's location. The AI floated there a moment, as is trying to make a decision, then CID shocked the boss.

The scream caught them all off guard, including CID, who was suddenly eyeball-to-barrel with the boss' pistol.

"She sleeps with a pistol?" Matt murmured, eyes glued to the exchange.

"And a knife," Keith explained in a whisper.

"Always has," Kensington concluded, taking a step forward.

"I realize you might have been locked in that program for quite some time, but something tells me you're not that goddamn stupid, CID," the boss growled with each step as she walked the device backward.

"We have information that you need to see. I thought it best to wake you as expediently as possible. When you failed to respond to audible entreaties, I tried … alternative methods," the AI countered.

"Ever shock me again, and I'm going to show you some alternative methods." Remy poked CID in his electronic eye with the silly-looking little alien pistol, which took some of the menace out of the threat, in Kinzie's mind at least.

With a glance over her shoulder, Kensington could not help the little grin that started to curl her lips, when she noticed the wide-eyed hacker to her right. "Come on, I'll show you," Kensington called across the room, drawing the boss' attention away from their code-based companion.

When CID started to follow, Remy stopped and glared at the mechanical shell again, halting it before the boss continued back up to the bridge with the group. McGinnis was mumbling something that sounded like electronic piece of scrap when she stopped cold behind Kinzie's chair.

"It's an airplane," the boss said after a moment.

"It is also a signature."

"Whose?" There was tension underlying in the boss' tone and Kinzie glanced up at the other woman. "Whose prison is it?" Remy repeated a little more anxiously.

"I don't know."

"How do we know it is one of our people?" Remy's eyes were glued to the screen and her hand was holding the pistol so tightly her knuckles were starting to go white.

"Same way I knew it was you, or the same way CID found Matt's simulation. The signature's hidden in the code."

"There are fragments and pieces that link all your simulations, because you all have shared memories. I can find you all through the pieces of your encoding that are similar. This signature has several pieces that I've found in your own simulation," CID noted from the doorway.

McGinnis glared at the machine and it did not attempt to come any closer.

"Whose idea of hell is being trapped on an airplane?" Matt asked absently as he ogled the schematic on the console.

"Really, Matt?" Kinzie groaned.

Remy tapped the pistol against her open palm. "Me, Shaundi, Joh-on my God," she gasped, grabbing the back of Kinzie's chair and leaning toward the screen. "Johnny's alive!"

With a shake of her head, Kinzie's dread was realized. "Boss, Johnny's dead," she said calmly, hoping that Remy would let it go, but knowing that is was highly unlikely. There were some things Remy was extremely stubborn about-her friends were chief among those.

"Who else would be stuck in a plane?" McGinnis replied.

The former fed was very aware of the location of the pistol the boss had pulled on CID, and she eyed it warily. Her hope was that Remy would see reason rather than cling to a hope that was wholly unreasonable. "Shaundi. It was a life defining moment for her. It's the only thing that makes sense."

Remy let go of the chair and backed away from Kinzie. The look on the boss' face concerned the younger woman. _This is not going to go well_, Kensington surmised.

"Look, Boss, I get it I really do. But this is most likely where Zinyak is keeping Shaundi."

"You're wrong," Remy replied sharply.

"I think she's making a lot of se-," Matt started until the boss turned her determined icy gaze on him. It shut him up instantly, making Kinzie wish she had a glare of the same caliber.

"She's wrong. Find out where this is," Remy ordered, marching past the AI. "We're going to get my best friend back."

Kinzie muttered angrily at the screen while Keith tried to calm her down and suggest reasons for McGinnis' insistence that this simulation held a friend she lost in the plane crash. Kinzie knew why Remy was so insistent, anyone who had known her since the Saints arrival in Steelport would understand why the boss thought it could be Johnny, and why she would want it to be him. Hell, when Kensington first saw the plane even she had to wonder.

_It cannot be possible_, she reminded herself of the determination she had made earlier. _It has to be Shaundi_._ That is the only thing that makes any kind of sense_. But noticing the look on the boss' face when she saw the schematic on the screen-that painful mix of desperation and hope-made Kensington almost wish there was some way this could be Johnny Gat. _Wishful thinking is not going to help her, _the press secretary reminded herself. She felt badly that the boss was going to get to that plane and lose that fierce sense of hope; Kensington could not help but also worry about how Remy's broken expectation could affect Shaundi, if that was indeed who was on that plane.

**-3-**

* * *

"Are you all right?" Matt asked from a perch on some crates as he watched Remy pace. Well, pacing seemed like the wrong word. She looked more like one of those big cats who had spent so long at the zoo that now all it does is walk in front of the glass viewing areas looking at the visiting people and children like snack foods.

When she looked at him, he could see the warring emotions in her eyes. It still struck him how expressive her eyes were. But of course the time he remembered most visibly was the time she nearly killed him, and all he could see in those blue eyes during that encounter he knew to be tainted by his own fear in that moment. She had always intimidated him more than anyone else, even Killbane, but the difference is that when Remy should have killed him, she did not take the opportunity.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Remy replied after taking a deep breath. "Just thought we would be there by now."

"Shaundi'll be okay."

"I know that, even if she doesn't know it herself. I've always known," the boss muttered at the still closed bay door.

Matt leaned forward and took a deep breath. "And you're okay with it not being … who you thought?"

She shrugged one shoulder, but didn't say anything initially. Then she her gaze met his stoically. "Look, Matt-"

"I mean I get it. I'd kill to see Asha again. Have someone around who was a friend, who knew me," he said looking down at the device in his hands. He dragged a finger over the display. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry you didn't find what you were looking for on that plane." His eyes met hers again.

In a matter of steps she was next to him. Remy set her hand on his shoulder and tried to smile, though it looked more like an uncomfortable grimace. "When we find her, we'll bring her back. But make no mistake you are a part of this crew. You're just new," the boss said, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

Neither of them really knew how to respond to her attempted inclusion and the silence stretched between them, engulfing everything like a black hole. Hands propped on her hips, she looked around the cargo bay for a moment. "What are you working on?" she asked finally, her eyes settling on the device in his hands.

"Just looking at some of the data Kinzie has gathered." He tipped his head at the device in his lap. "It is a little hard to do much with."

"Why's that?"

"Seeing it after the fact, when it is dormant doesn't do much with something like this." He leaned forward and she crossed her arms over her chest as she leaned on a stack of crates a few feet away. "This system is amazing. For lack of a more elegant phrase it is like a living entity, changing evolving, adjusting to the parasites within it."

Remy laughed lightly. "We would be the parasites, I take it?" she questioned, gesturing from him to her and back again with her finger.

"Indeed. In a way we are something it needs to survive."

He turned to face her completely and set the tablet out of the way. As he spoke, he gestured in an attempt to help better explain his theories about the simulation. To her credit she at least pretended she followed his train of thought. But when he saw the furrow in her brow he realized it was the same look Remy gave Kinzie when the former FBI agent had gone a few steps too far. As such, Matt tried to curve back toward something more akin to layman speak.

"And in most cases the beings it houses are consumed by it. But _we_ are combating it. We take from the simulation what we need without providing it all the things it usually gets from its dependent beings. In breaking these normal rules of interaction, we are forcing it to react and change in response to our unique interaction with it and within it. And I can't see those reactions in the code after the fact."

"So this is your fancy way of asking if I'd break some things in the simulation for you some time?" Remy said with a mischievous grin on her face.

The uneasy laugh made her respond in kind. When he shrugged rather sheepishly, she said, "Load the list onto my hub, and next time I go in, I'll see if I can't get you what you're looking for."

"Thanks. I'll even make it worth your while," he added, trying to sound playful.

He realized his performance was pale when she took a step toward him and arched one eyebrow at him. Her voice was a low purr that made his spine tingle. "Oh, will you now?"

Never had four simple words muddled his brain so effectively. He stammered a minute searching for a reply, and his reaction amused her. "I… I'm writing a program that might be useful. Figure if you help me get the data, it might help me finish up the coding."

Her look faded to something more innocuous in response to his chaste reply, though the sultry gaze she had cast Matt had already worked on him too effectively. "It's okay Matt. I'll get you your data, program or not," she agreed with a much more friendly air.

"Hey boss! Good news. Shaundi's already on the platform," Kinzie announced over the intercom.

"Thank God," Remy sighed as she jogged across the deck, grabbing one of the Zin rifles as she went. "Miller, do me a solid and see if there is a blanket in one of those crates over there?"

He hopped off his perch and located what she asked for quickly. Luckily that part of the bay was blocked by rather high towers of crates, so the hacker did not have to worry about the weapons fire directed at Shaundi and the ship.

"Holy shit! It is good to see you Remy," Shaundi greeted as the bay doors closed.

"You too, Sweetie," the boss replied, hugging her friend back. "Miller," she called snapping her fingers above her head.

The throw was bad, but he had his back to them, and crates between him and the females. Recalling his own removal from the Zin control, he did not want it to seem like he was trying to ogle Shaundi. He did not want any of the Saints to think of him as the creepy kid who had tried to kill the boss, he much preferred anything to that sense of being on the outside.

Everyone on the ship had been fairly considerate, so far. Remy never mentioned the fact that he had been wandering around the Zin mothership naked. When Matt came aboard, she had merely stowed the power armor then found him tucked up under the stairs in the cargo bay, where she wrapped a blanket around him and tried to explain what was happening to him as best as she knew it. Miller realized when Shaundi arrived on the ship, that Remy had treated him like one of her crew-tucking the blanket around him tightly and sitting with him until he seemed calm.

Standing there in the cargo bay, watching the same type of exchange play out with Shaundi, he realized that in that moment Remy had claimed him as one of her own, one of her crew. The hacker leaned there against the crates, rubbing his temples. She was one of the most shocking women he had ever met. After gathering mountains of information about her for the Syndicate in Steelport, Miller had thought he knew her, but then and now she still managed to surprise him.

What caught him off guard the most in that moment was not just her behavior, but the thoughts running through his head. It was not the first time he had thought about her in _that_ way, that unprofessional, bordering on the romantic way. Even now the same old discouraging arguments played in his head.

Every other time he considered asking her for coffee or tea or anything, he remembered conversations and statements he had caught over various wiretaps of his own and others. She had told Shaundi, and several others at different points, that she "didn't do relationships." Her administration had made numerous attempts just get her into a serious, steady romantic dating scenario, though they had been pushing since the start of her campaign to get her married off to make her seem more stable. Her admission tied to her refusal to pair off in any way always kept Matt's interest at bay, well not his interest, but at least any action on it.

Rolling his head to the left he watched the President guide her friend out of the cargo bay, snugly wrapped up in a blanket like she had done with him when he was over the shock of it all. Remy's hands rubbed at Shaundi's shoulder as they spoke quietly, heads bent in collusion.

The tightness in his jaw made him press his head back against the crate as he stared at the ceiling. It was a stupid thought, errantly dashing through a mind that should be preoccupied with anything but Remy McGinnis at that moment. But the worry prickled at him even though he knew he had no right to claim it. Since he had arrived on the ship Matt had started to get used to her presence, to seeing her, talking to her. It comforted him, made the loneliness and the enormity of the loss a little more bearable. And in that moment, it felt like it was fleeting.

**-4-**

* * *

Shaundi hugged Remy again. They did not usually do this. But after days spent reliving Johnny's death over and over again, she needed it. And Remy seemed to hang onto her lieutenant as tightly as Shaundi clung to the boss.

"What the hell is going on?" Shaundi finally muttered as she sat back on the sofa.

Remy scrapped her hand across her forehead then finally looked up at her friend. "Earth is gone."

The brunette gaped at her.

"It's my fault. That alien bastard said he'd destroy it if I broke out of his box again."

"You couldn't have gotten out of there without my help," Kinzie added from the doorway.

They all knew what Kensington was trying to do. Remy took responsibility for the Saints and their actions, she always had. Whatever the gang did, she did-at least as far as failures and screw ups were concerned. Successes she allowed to be claimed by the party that achieved them. Kensington was stealing some of the blame from the boss, rather than allowing the shorter blonde to carry it all on her own.

"Kinzie, be that as it may-" Remy began.

"No," the computer whiz argued, interrupting the boss. "You always stand with us when we screw up. Even if you didn't have anything to do with it, you take the heat. This was my idea. I found you. I showed you the way out. Hell, I programmed the way out and practically dragged you out of it. So, this time-it's _my_ fault. Not _yours_."

Shaundi smiled at her. Some days she loved Kinzie more than shoes. "If that's how it played out, then she's right, boss."

Remy's eyes moved from one to the other of them. "It's not just on you, Kinzie. Come on," the boss said patting the sofa.

This type of thing was fairly rare for all of them. Girls nights were never really Remy's kind of thing, but Shaundi did arrange them from time to time, and that was kind of what it felt like to all three of them. Kinzie seemed glad to have her friend back on the ship. The brunette who had been heading the Secret Service before the attack was really just glad to be out of that nightmare; her relief at being with at least part of the crew again was indescribable.

In her head, Shaundi knew it had only been a handful of days, but it felt like so much longer. And she was just glad to be out of the loop, glad to have other people around again.

"I think CID is getting close," Kinzie noted as she perched on the sofa between the other two women. "He was gibbering earlier about his tailor and alligator shoes."

"Pierce," the boss and Shaundi groaned in unison before the three of them fell into laughter.

"What do you think his nightmare is?" Shaundi chuckled.

"His tailor hemming his slacks too short," Remy chided.

"Oleg beating him in chess," Kinzie quipped with a hint of wistfulness.

"Actually that could be likely," the boss replied. "Ugh! But I hope not. I would hate to see what Zinyak would do with that."

"Me, too," the petite redhead agreed quietly and Shaundi put her arm around Kensington's shoulders.

Remy took Kinzie's hand and held it in both of hers looking at it for a long time before her eyes sought the younger woman's. Shaundi could see it in Remy's gaze, but knowing the boss as long as she had, she also knew that the words would not make it all the way out, no matter how badly she might want to say them.

Kinzie knew it too. She knew the boss was sorry about it all. She knew the boss felt badly about Oleg and everyone else. But none of them needed the boss to be sorry or sad or consoling right now. They needed Remy McGinnis pissed off and out for blood. They needed her in control of the emotions she did not know how to manipulate to her own ends. They needed her to be the intimidating and capable leader that kept the Saints on top even when they were outmanned and outgunned.


	3. Pro Memoria

**Summary: **Matt asks a question he has wanted to know the answer to for years. While the rest of the Saints try to make Miller feel like part of the crew, Remy is incensed by the time it is taking for CID to locate the rest of her people.

**A/N: **Thanks Chy for the early read of this, as always appreciated.

* * *

**Free to Be**

**03 Pro Memoria**

**-1-**

* * *

Her arrival made the whole couch react vocally, the whine of the old springs cried against the force of the landing she made after jumping over the back. Matt bit back the smile that threatened to show his relief, as Remy rubbed an apple with a paper towel. With a playful glance up at him through her long eyelashes, she held the piece of fruit out to him.

"Repayment for the tea?" he asked lightly as he took it and set it aside.

She shrugged her shoulder and made a face. "You wouldn't want me to try and cook anything. Even boiling water I could probably take this ship down," she lied. Retrieving another apple from her pocket she set to work polishing it.

"Somehow I don't quite believe that."

She laughed. "You of all people should know not to lend credence to everything you read."

"Oh, I didn't read this."

The blue was steely, but the deep ring that rimmed her iris was striking, almost a midnight blue. He realized he was staring at her eyes when she arched her eyebrow at him.

"Umm… sorry what?" he stammered, turning his attention back to the console.

"What didn't you read?"

"Well, according to my sources, you love to cook. But pretend you can't. _And_ you're really good at it."

"Who might this source be?" From the sound of the bite the apples were still fresh, and the beads of moisture on the pale flesh of the fruit made his stomach grumble. "I might have to smash their kneecaps. You can take a break, you know? CID said you've been down here working most of the day."

Matt looked at the apple and realized the AI was right. He had woken up with the intention of putting in an hour on the code, but lost track of everything. He grabbed the fruit he had set on the console when she had handed it to him, in reaction she scooted over a little in invitation. Or at least he wanted it to be an invitation to join her.

"That stuff distracts you." Her tone was not a question, nor was there a question in her look.

"Like running a job, doesn't distract you?" he retorted, taking a seat.

The laughter made his chest tighten, and he stared at the red rind as he spun the apple with his fingers.

"These are surprisingly good. I'm not a fan of red apples, but I like these. You should try it," Remy suggested as she took a generous bite of her own.

She was blatant in everything. She only sipped her tea when it was too hot to take a mouthful. She did not daintily nibble at the apple or slice off polite little bites with one of the knives she always had on her person. _Everything about Remy McGinnis is all or nothing, always had been, mostly._ He took a small bite as he considered the one time in his own experience with her when that had not been the case.

"Can I ask you something?" Matt finally said.

"Shoot," she insisted with another sharp crunch.

His eyes moved along the jagged edges of the bite he had taken, noticing the curve of his own teeth marks and the difference where the skin had just split as he tore away another mouthful. "Why didn't you kill me back in Steelport?"

"Matt, are you doing okay?" Her hand on his shoulder startled him. His eyes darted to hers.

"Yeah," he said with a shake of his head as he looked away. "I just never understood why. I mean … I'm grateful, don't get me wrong. I just-"

He took a deep breath and turned to face her, she was studying him carefully at this point, but he chose to ignore it. He considered how to approach what he wanted to say for a moment and opted to just dive right in.

"You have a certain reputation, at least before you came to Steelport. Someone butted heads with you, and things happened to them. Maero, the Ronin, Veteran Child and the Samedi, they all went after you and your people … and …"

"And they all wound up in the ground," she finished for him.

"But that didn't happen in Steelport. I understand the choice between your people and Killbane. Those are your friends. And I can even understand your association with Viola. She brought information and someone with inside connections. She was useful. But I tried to kill you … more than once … and I know you took the deal I offered, but we both know what a crap deal it was."

Remy laughed, a big grin lighting her eyes as she wrapped her apple core in the paper towel. "Yeah, that was a pretty shitty trade, Matt. You were scraping the barrel with that one."

She was smiling, and it remained when her eyes locked on his. The shiver that went up his spine was non-descript; he did not know if it was fear or something else that prompted it, but it made every nerve in his body tingle. Remy leaned toward him, never losing his gaze.

"Then why'd you take it?"

"You were sixteen, Matt." Her voice was calm and flat, almost gentle.

"Seventeen," he countered, only by a couple of months, but for some reason in that moment the difference of one year mattered to him.

She shook her head a moment, still grinning. "Okay, fine. Seventeen. Even so, it was more than just about your age. You were in a fucked up situation in the Syndicate. Yes, you were an active part of the group, but from what Viola told us about Killbane, I kind of gave you the benefit of the doubt that there was some coercion and maybe fear for your life mixed in with the whole cyber god bravado. You were a kid, a kid with a massive ego, and, for the most part, the bones to back it up. But there was more to it."

Remy ran her hands over her thighs and pushed herself off the couch. "Besides, I could see it in your eyes."

"What?" he asked almost immediately.

She looked up at the ceiling and it took a long time for her to finally answer. "The fear."

Matt slumped back in the sofa, his shoulders hunched and his eyes locked on the fruit in his hands. She was right. Being beaten on his own turf by someone he had not considered his equal had been a sobering experience. This woman should not have been able to get to him, even with Kinzie's help. He had never expected her to ever get through the use-net, let alone reach his inner sanctum. In one fell swoop she had crushed his ego, made him question his own skill, and then made him feel worthless, not even worthy of a bullet. Walking away from technology of all types had been his first thought when he went home, then MI-6 popped up and yanked him back into that world, giving him a new focus and drive. Making him a respectable member of society and kind of keeping him in check in many ways.

"You were in over your head, Matt. I've been there, more than once, which is why I could see it. The only difference between you and me at that point was that I've mostly had people there to back me up when I got into those places. You were kind of hung out there on your own and left to whip in the wind," she observed, turning and leaning on a crate. "And I've been there, too."

His eyes finally rose to hers, and he thought, hoped, he saw a tenderness there, but then he realized that more likely than not it was something completely different. Thinking he saw pity in her eyes, his temper started to bubble.

"So, you let me go because you felt sorry for me?" There was more acid in his voice than he intended, but the idea of her pitying him, then, now, ever, irritated and angered him in a way that seemed irrational even to him, though that did not change how he felt in that moment.

"No. I didn't feel sorry for you. I just remembered what it was like to be hung out to dry by people who were supposed to have your back. Only difference is that your boys left you alone with me. My guys tried to blow my ass up," she all but growled at him. Rubbing her hand across her forehead, Remy took a deep calming breath.

"Look. Somehow, I got a reprieve I had no right to expect. I got a second chance." She stared at him, her gaze still harsh, but not cold. "For some reason when I saw you there, looking up at me, I remembered that. I remembered being a stupid kid that bought into someone else's bullshit and nearly dying for it. So I broke habit. Instead of writing you off, I took your shitty deal and let you walk. Figured there was a chance you might find a better outlet for all that talent and those mad skills," she said playfully before her tone turned somber again. "You're too good to let a group of two-bit thugs use you as a tool for profit."

The surprise surely had to be written on his face, or so he thought as he stared at her. Remy broke their connection first, by looking down at her hands. Then she straightened and crossed the room. Matt was not sure how to deal with the revelation of why she had not killed him. He honestly had not been expecting her to be quite so honest and open about it. What he had expected was some snarky answer with a touch of the truth buried beneath a load of sarcasm and bravado. Miller was not sure precisely how to take the inference in her answer or the fact that Remy actually just told him the plain, unclothed truth.

When she bent and snatched up her neatly wrapped apple core, Matt grabbed her wrist. Instinctually the look she gave him was a harsh warning, a reminder she gave to anyone that put their hands on her, even her own friends. But then there was something else just behind the hardness, something that made his heart race and muddled his usually clear mind.

"Thank you," he finally said, not able to find any other sentiment he could voice.

"You're welcome, Matt. And for what it's worth, I think you've come pretty far since your little Nyte-Blayde-inspired cyber dungeon."

Her smile prompted his own. There was no reply in his head, he just merely let go of her wrist and watched her walk back out of the cargo bay. She stopped at the doorway for a moment before she glanced over her shoulder at him. "I should be able to finish up that data collection you need later this evening. Let me know when you're ready for me to hit those last few targets and I'll get you what you need."

Matt nodded. He did not know what else to do.

**-2-**

* * *

The boss broke her schedule after the conversation with the hacker. Remy could not be sure precisely why she opened up to him so freely, it was not her way. Maybe it was because he seemed to be showing his discomfort with the situation since Shaundi came on board. Maybe it was because she could see that he still felt like he was not part of the crew. The Saints had worked with Matt and Asha, after the success of the mission against Cyrus, but there was no denying that he was still on the outside, despite their past cooperation and association.

Right now, there was no outside, Remy knew. _There couldn't be_. They had to work together to get this done, no matter what flags they flew in the past they were all Saints now. Maybe she told him the truth in the hopes that it would make him feel included, but she could not really say why she had done it. Remy had chosen to retrieve him before her own crew because she needed the best to pull this off, and he was at least as good as Kinzie, maybe better, or at least better at some things while Kensington excelled at others. But Remy knew she would only see his best if he understood that he had a place.

That was one thing that was constant-no matter your role. Your performance always peaked when you felt that someone appreciated your value. If you felt like an outsider, there was no incentive to achieve the group's goals. But when you felt like an integral member, it was like you were achieving your own goals rather than someone else's. Right now she needed everyone on her crew in that mindset. She needed them all focused on the goal. She needed them all on the top of their game, even if she still had no idea whether the goal was viable.

After disposing of the refuse, Remy trotted up the stairs and strolled over to Kinzie who was tapping away at one of the consoles. "Got a to-do list for me, Sweetie?"

"But you just came out, Boss," Kinzie replied with a slight furrow in her brow.

"I know," Remy said as she straightened and crossed her arms over her chest. "Just feeling a little restless. Figured I'd run a little longer."

"I thought you were all set on that schedule _Matt_ set up." Kensington did not care for Miller, still.

His intervention and assistance seemed to be unappreciated, though the boss had hoped her friend might see Miller and his contributions as a boon-two heads are better than one and all. Remy had suggested they pick up Matt to help Kinzie out, take some of the load off her. The boss hoped that her friend might be able to get over the rocky past the two computer wizards had, but part of her was quickly realizing that might be a pipe dream. While the former federal agent liked Matt's partner, Asha, well enough, there was still no love lost between Kinzie and him.

Remy leaned against the console beside the redhead's and looked down at the toe of her own boots. "Look, I know how you feel about all this. And I know your opinion about Miller."

"I don't trust him. Fate of the Earth be damned. He's always been an egocentric code weasel. And I have yet to see evidence to the contrary."

"Kinzie, I get it. I really do. He fucked up your reputation and derailed your career. That shit is kind of hard to overlook. But we might just have to put the past behind us, because push come to shove, you and Matt are probably some of the sharpest minds when it comes to tech and computers and all this code shit. And, like it or not, we need him. As good as you are, you have to rest some time. You cannot do this all on your own."

Kinzie huffed slightly in response and eyed her screen. She hated it when Remy got all logical and reasonable; and had told the boss as much from time to time when it happened.

"I'm not asking you to forgive him, or be his friend. But work with him. Put some of the load off onto his shoulders. Don't cut him out. He's part of this crew. So, please, for me. Figure it out."

The bright pained eyes met Remy's and she knew Kinzie would make it work. That's what they were all doing. None of them were in their natural elements, but they had to figure out a way to make things work in this screwed up realm if they were going to have any chance at getting anyone else back, getting rid of Zinyak, and hopefully, there was an off chance they could reverse things. Though that seemed like nothing more than a wishful thinking. But then most of her life Remy had been working toward pipe dreams.

**-3-**

* * *

Pierce was just glad to be out of that damned nutrient milk bullshit, though he felt like he could still smell the sweet sour milk stench despite the scrubbing. And the suit kept chafing him under the arms, which he blamed on poor craftsmanship. But for all the discomforts of the ship it was a lot better than being stuck in that digital hell with Paul. The memory of it still made him cringe.

"Hey, Matt! How ya been, man?" Pierce asked as he sank the solid purple ball in the side pocket.

The hacker stopped in the doorway and just shrugged. Pierce sighed. The Saints were all trying to be civil, because the boss asked them to, but the little Brit seemed to be withdrawing even more.

"Listen." Pierce dropped the cue on the table and crossed the room to a crate he had confiscated and claimed as his own. It was brimming with random things he found hidden in other crates that were on the ship or that had been picked up here and there. "I found something in one of the crates up front. Thought you might want to take a look."

Washington was actually surprised that the lanky taller man had responded and was standing a few feet from him, craning his neck as Pierce turned with the prize in his arms. Pierce smiled just a little as he carried the cardboard box over to the table where Miller joined him.

"I couldn't believe it when I found them. Figured I'd grab them up before the boss or Shaundi thought they were junk and tossed them."

With a strange sense of reverence, Pierce lifted the lid off the old file box and grinned crookedly. The plastic sleeves gleamed in the bright light of the room.

"Is that…?" Matt gasped, bright blue eyes wide in surprise.

"Oh yeah. Whoever these belonged to, he had them all. _Nyte Blayde_, _Ganstas in Space_, _The Gat Files_, even the shitty Franklin Nyte back-story ones they did after the TV series ended."

Matt gingerly picked up the first issue of _Nyte Blayde_. Pierce watched the kid's hand move over it lightly. "I can't believe it."

"Yeah," Pierce said with a little trace of self-satisfaction. "I saw them and knew they would come in handy."

"No, I meant that you're a Nyte Blayde fan."

"Aww, shit. That show was awesome. And Josh was a trip."

"Josh?"

"Yeah, he still has this ridiculous thing for Shaundi. Never figured that one out. Most guys'd go for the boss, at least until she threatens to shoot them in the leg, if you know what I mean."

Matt laughed, there was a tinge of nervousness in the sound that Pierce caught, it suggested Matt got the unspoken meaning in his comment. "Can I?" the hacker asked, gesturing to the comic book he had picked up.

"Hell yeah. I'm all for protecting them, but these things are meant to be read. I never understood that whole buy it and lock it up mentality. This shit is entertainment. And there is only a handful of diversions that can be had wrapped in plastic." Washington chuckled as he elbowed the translucently pale hacker.

Pierce glanced up from his own issue and noted the careful way Miller handled the book. It made him wonder if Matt might be one of those _don't touch it_ collectors. With a shrug he turned his attention back into the issue he had not read yet. Before he could really even get into the childhood traumas of Franklin Nyte, CID floated into the room.

"Shaundi and Kinzie have requested relief," the AI stated dryly.

"Damn, she's still at it?" Pierce asked, slapping the comic down on the table without even trying to hide his irritation.

"Yes."

The alien intelligence was not one for elaboration in most cases. Pierce was fairly certain Remy had intimidated it out of him in the last few weeks. "How long has she been in there this time?"

"Fourteen-point-seven hours," CID revealed as the three of them exited the room.

"That long? What is she doing?" Matt asked, and Pierce was almost certain the kid sounded concerned.

"She is breaking the simulation. Seeking data that can be used to locate the others. It also seems she is gaining some sort of cathartic effect," the monotone electronic voice noted.

"Which is an elaborate way of saying she's in there beating motherfuckers to death," Pierce snorted. He had to wonder if Remy was still using the bat, or if she was once again down to using her bare hand. "Damn lucky for her cutting her knuckles open on one of those guys in there means dick out here."

"Be that as it may," Shaundi said as she stepped out of the machine. "The boss isn't fucking doing any of us any favors."

"Is she looking for something specific?" Matt queried as he slipped into a seat at the console.

Shaundi looked over at Kinzie for a moment, before they both looked at Pierce. "She is trying to get us more data points so we can locate … the rest of the crew," Kensington said with a quick glance at Matt.

"Where the fuck is Pierce?" The boss' voice held a note of irritation that he had not heard in a long time. "I could use a little bit of a hand, if he's done touching himself." The sound of an explosion punctuated the transmission.

"What the hell?" he asked. "Are ya'll really going to let her run through this crazy shit like this?"

"You want to try and talk her down," Shaundi challenged, gesturing to the interface. "Go right the fuck ahead. But you better hope you get to the door first, or you'll come to with her foot on your throat. You know how she is when she gets like this."

"Goddamnit. We need Ben or Oleg. Those were the only other motherfuckers that could talk her down besides Johnny." Pierce winced when Shaundi's eyes went to Kinzie for a second. "Fu-uck," he groaned and looked over at Kensington, too. "I'm sorry, girl."

"Just go help the boss before her first instinct devolves to shooting you on sight," Kinzie said.

**-4-**

* * *

Pierce looked haggard when he climbed out of the machine. He had offered to have Kinzie come up and relieve Matt, when the Saint realized how long they had been at it. Miller shook his head and instead opted to maintain his post. Her vitals were fluctuating wildly. In part he knew it was the exertion and the combat, but he also knew a large factor of it was the fact that she was nearing twenty hours straight in the simulation.

When she stopped and just leaned against a wall, Matt sat up and tapped the mic. "You doing all right in there?"

"No. I'm not," she snapped.

Matt gritted his teeth, he could hear the strain in her voice.

"Sorry. It's not your fault. Fuck, I hate this goddamn place," she yelled then fired four shots, all hitting their mark and dropping a digital construction.

"Just shooting civilians for the hell of it?"

"Why the hell not? It's not like any of this is real. The cops can't add this bullshit to my body count." Three more shots sounded and he heard the distinct sound of her reloading her pistol. "Crap I could pull a bats-in-the-belfry move if I wanted. Just hang out on some damn tower with my rifle and burn ammo."

"If I recall, you did that in Steelport once," Matt replied lightly.

She stopped again and looked up at the darkness he knew surrounded her. "No, no, no. That is not what happened. Fucking Morningstar killer hos interrupt a party and start sniping my people. That was self-preservation, not sociopathic spree-killer with rifle and a scope."

Matt chuckled. She was right, but he was simply trying to get her mind off her irritation. "How many was it again? Five?" He already knew the answer, but he also know she would correct him.

"More like fifteen. And of course since I already had the rifle out…" Her tone was much lighter than it had been since he arrived earlier.

"How many did you end up taking out with that thing?"

"No more than two dozen. Once I cleaned up the deck and the landing pad it was a little much, and it's not really the type of weapon you go bashing people's face in unless you absolutely have to."

"From what I hear, you pretty much do that with everything."

Remy laughed and holstered her pistol, or so the code told him. He slid over a console and watched the graphic feed.

"So you are telling me that in Prague, when that guy jumped you and you bashed his skull in with your laptop, you felt absolutely nothing," the boss challenged. She was standing in the middle of an intersection ignoring the vehicles moving past her, arms crossed over her chest as her eyes scanned the perpetual night sky of the simulation. "Because I'm going to call bullshit, if you say yes."

"Why's that?" Matt replied, conscious of the blush warming his cheeks even if she was not.

"Because I saw you hit that guy. Then you stood there and looked around all sheepishly for a minute. Then, I swear, the look on your face was like a cat when it kills a mouse-all triumphant, look-what-I-did, bright-eyed pride. You'd have thought it was your first kill," Remy chuckled.

Matt's fingers traced along the edge of the monitor. "It was," he admitted quietly.

"Shit." Her tone was a little more grave. "I didn't realize."

"I mean it was bound to happen sometime. It was the whole reason Asha kept pushing me to get more comfortable with guns."

"You've gotten pretty good. Leaps and bounds over the last time we were at the range," Remy noted.

Matt could not help the smile that curved his lips at the thought that she remembered those horrible sessions from years earlier. He did, of course, but he had no reason to think that those lessons might have been a memorable for her. "Yeah, well, I'm better in the simulation than I am outside of it. The code can hide a multitude of sins so to speak."

"Really now?" she said playfully. He watched her jog across the street and start walking north. "Asha said your scores were steadily coming up. Of course, she also told me you were still holding the damn gun like it might bite you."

The scar between his thumb and his forefinger suggested it was a very real consideration. "Well, if you recall…"

"Yeah, you're right. You were pretty prone to slide bite. Did you ever fix that grip?" she asked.

_The President of the United States should not remember these sorts of things_, he thought for a moment before he answered. "Mostly."

"You haven't gotten bitten in the sim yet."

"Oh, yeah I have," Miller admitted with a light laugh. "Just it's a lot more forgiving in there than the real world."

"Tell me about it."

The silence dragged on for a minute, maybe two, before he decided to broach the subject that everyone wanted to bring up, but no one would after the first time the boss shut them down. "You know your timer's at almost twenty-one hours, right?"

"Yeah, I know." She sounded almost sad, or maybe it was just tired, or maybe it was just her moving back to irritated, Matt couldn't really be sure.

"Your vitals have been a little shaky for the last few."

"I just…" Remy stopped again and when she looked up he almost felt like she was looking at him, which she kind of was in a way. "I have to do this. I need to find them. It took four days to find Shaundi, and though we had hints of Pierce it still took CID more than eight days to find him. We're at five again. This is taking too long."

"Yes, but you've been killing yourself in there since we picked Pierce up and, sure, CID has more data to process, but it still takes just as long to weed through."

"Fuck!" The wall she punched cracked and fissured from the point of the impact. "This is not how I work!"

"I get it."

"Do you?" she challenged, glaring upward as she walked into the street, turning circles as if seeking a point to focus on. "I'm the one people go to when they need a problem handled. I've always been the fixer-whether you needed a plan or just someone to break some knee caps, or make the long shot no one else would touch." Remy picked up a car and launched it up the street, the resulting metallic crashes and crunching were offset by the screams, which she quickly silenced by emptying her clip.

"Now look at me."

Matt did exactly that. The body locked into the dock looked so much more at peace than the one currently rampaging up a busy thoroughfare-smashing cars, shooting people, breaking necks when she ran out of ammo.

"I know. Look at you. The one person with the guts to walk out of their simulation, despite the threats. The one willing to walk into someone else's to pull them out of their own fucking digital nightmare. The one practically killing herself in the hope that we can find just one more person. Look at you!" he yelled before getting quiet again. "Look at you."

Remy stopped and turned, staring upwards again.

"I don't think any of the rest of us could do it. I know I couldn't. Kinzie can't. If she could, or Keith could they would have come in after you, any of us would have if we could."

"All I can do is this. And I have to do it so that you, Kinzie, and CID have the tools you need to find them. As many of them as we can, before we lose anymore," Remy said much more calmly.

She tugged the ponytail out of her hair and rubbed her fingers through it a few times before she sat down on the double yellow line in the center of the road. "I'm useless in the real world right now, except for the short time after we break someone out. This is the only place I can help. The only place I can contribute something."

"That's not really true," Matt countered.

The upwards glance suggested she did not believe him.

"If you are in the simulation for more than six hours, we need to switch out who is in there with you and ideally even who is monitoring you. None of the rest of us have the stamina for the simulation you have. It's wearing Shaundi and Pierce out, trying to keep up with you. Kinzie is reluctant to leave her console when you are inside." He grinned for a moment and added, "I still don't think she trusts me with your life yet."

"Well, she does have cause."

"Hey, now! I've apologized for that. Hell, I'm actually kind of glad I fucked it up, to be honest."

Remy leaned back on her hands, stretching her legs out in front of her on the asphalt. "Hell, so am I."

"Yeah well. Besides wearing out your crew. You're not helping yourself either."

"Not the point, Miller," Remy corrected.

"Actually it kind of is the point. Because since we've already established that you're the only one who can break other people out, for whatever reason. Then, if you kill yourself in this damn simulation, we're all done for." Matt had avoided playing this card for a while. He knew Remy was already carrying enough guilt and grief to put a dozen people into catatonic states, and he really did not want to add to it. "It's like I told you before. Taking care of yourself is taking care of your crew. And the pace you're running right now will kill you if you try to keep it up."

Neither of them said anything for quite a while. Then he watched as she leaned back and laced her hands behind her head. "How about we go back to talking about what a piss poor shot you are?"

"Were?" he corrected.

"Whatever."

Matt laughed. "If that's what you really want to do, sure. But, personally, I just found out that Pierce has a stash of comic books, and there are at least fifty of those I'd rather be reading as opposed to sitting here and watching you lay in the middle of the street just because you can."

"All right fine. Be that way," she chided as she stood up and stretched.

Biting his lip, he watched her sprint off toward the Stanfield door then slid back to the other console. What he had told her was not entirely true. He would much rather have sat there talking to her, but even that innocent action took more out of her in the simulation than it would sitting on the sofa in the cargo bay, or over a game of pool in the common area of the ship. Though for some reason it was a lot easier to talk to her sometimes like this. He did not know why she did not give him grief over these types of conversations, maybe because she saw it coming from an outsider-someone that did not have a vested interest in her survival.

_If she only knew_, he thought as she reached the door.


	4. Limitations

**Summary: **Nightmares are not an uncommon occurrence for Remy. She's quite used to them, especially the longest running one in her life. It is just another reminder of the many reasons she has made some of the choices she has in her life, even if her desires did not align with her decisions. Combating herself never leaves McGinnis in the best of moods, but there are ways to distract oneself from one's thoughts, even in space.

**A/N**: As usual, many thanks to the lovely Chyrstis for ALL her amazing help with this chapter. Your patience and assistance with this troublesome section was very much appreciated.

* * *

**Free to Be **

**04 Limitations**

**-1-**

* * *

The sun was bright in the cloudless sky and the gentle breeze carried with it the scent of Mrs. Finkelstein's roses, which were just starting to bloom, but most of that was lost on the six-year-old girl. Remy's mind was centered on the fact that her mother had allowed her to wear her black patent leather tap shoes on the way to dance class. She was never allowed to wear them anywhere but in the studio; it was one of the rules. There was no rhyme or reason to it, but Remy's joy bubbled over when Roisin had pulled out the shoes before they left home and tied the ribbon laces in a big looping bow.

The metal taps vibrantly rang on the concrete as she spun and flitted beside her mother, whose hand held hers loosely. As the two traversed the six blocks to Miss Lu's little studio. Remy was oblivious to almost everything except the sound her taps made against the ground-sharp clicks and scratching shuffles. But one thing she would never forget about that afternoon was the bright smile her mother gave her as the girl thoroughly enjoyed their walk. Remy would recall the peal of Roisin's laughter as her daughter performed a silly little display just for the two of them.

Those were the memories from that day that the boss did not mind returning, but those never came without the others. They went hand-in-hand with things she still could not shut out or forget even nearly twenty-some-odd years after the fact. Like the sudden look of panic in her mother's eyes as the smile faded with the squeal of tires and the ring of copper shells on the pavement competing with the rhythm of her own steps. But all of those things paled in comparison to the weight of her mother's body on hers as Roisin covered Remy protectively.

Begging. That was another thing she remembered vividly. Begging her mother to wake up as she stroked her hair and sang the lullaby her mother always sang to her. The girl prayed and cajoled, trying to bargain with God not to take her Mama to heaven because she needed her more. She even went so far as to offer to pay attention in catechism classes if only God would just make Mama wake up. Her screams and cries for help and her pleas to God fell on dear or closed ears. It was all in vain.

No one knew how long she sat there. Even after she heard her father's voice yelling her name, her mother's name. The girl just kept singing, hoping that maybe it would make something happen. Remy could recall the tightness of her brother's arms around her as he literally had to pull her off their mother. Then Perry had hugged her so tightly that she felt like she might be crushed.

The screech woke her. As Remy looked around the darkened bridge she realized she was the one who had screamed. The boss leaned her forehead on her arm, which she rested on the console near her chair. Her heart was racing and she was breathing heavily-the traces of anxiety from the dream still quaking her nerves. In that moment, she could hear it again-that resonant voice warning her that all this would happen. Even in her own head Zinyak was still taunting her.

_He's like you. Says something and does it_, she thought. Her threats were not idle. It had been foolish of her to think that his would be. But at the same time it seemed far-fetched that he could actually destroy Earth. It seemed beyond her at the time, even now it seemed past the mark. When the hatch opened with a swish, she turned quickly, barely straightening to see who her little yelp had disturbed.

"Everything okay?"

Part of her was glad she could not see his face. The brightness from the simulation room back lit him in such a way that she could not read any expression or clearly see his electric blue eyes. At that moment she found it a distinct advantage for both of them. Since she could not read Matt in that moment, she could not be upset at anything she might see there.

"Nothing I can't handle," she replied softly.

"Nightmares?"

"Its fine, Matt. Sorry I bothered you."

"I was going to make some tea. Would you care to join me?" He hitched his thumb over his shoulder, ignoring her offer to let him escape unhindered by her distress.

Remy stared at him. His consideration was endearing and frightening. The boss knew she did not need more temptation to act stupidly, not in her currently edged state.

**-2-**

* * *

"I don't know how you can sleep in the bridge. Those chairs are murder," Matt said, setting a cup down in front of her. His voice was quiet, since everyone else was asleep.

She did not reply straight away, instead she seemed to be studying the swirling patterns that the cream made in the tea. Matt was rather surprised when she set the cup down and finally responded. "It's the only place I can wake up screaming and not garner an audience," she replied, slumping in her chair. "Usually."

He glanced over at her. The boss seemed as surprised as he was by the revelation. Her hand went to her forehead, shielding her from his gaze, so Matt took the hint and looked down into his mug. Then he decided to chance it. His hand balled into a fist for a moment, as if tensing the muscles might make it safer. Her fingertips, which had been tapping lightly at the edge of the ceramic mug, stilled when he set his hand over hers.

"You're not the only one feeling this. We're all under the same kind of strain, you know?"

The shield lowered. The best part was that she did not break his hand, nor did she pull away, which was her typical MO. Remy just stared at him, it was as if he could see her mind racing in those steely blue eyes. She seemed so tired in that moment, but still resolute then something a little dark crept over her features.

Her voice was low, thready. "Yeah. The only difference is that essentially I'm the one that pushed the damn button." Her gaze fell to cup filled with a cloudy caramel-colored and quickly-cooling attempt at comfort. "When I escaped the mother ship, Zinyak was announcing his evening entertainment," she said with a little gruff snort of derision. "The execution of Earth's world leaders, mandatory attendance for all Zin. Sounded like he was planning quite the floor show. Kinzie and I thought if we got some help, we could do something."

Rubbing her temple with her unoccupied hand, she looked over at him again and laughed. "And Oleg. Motherfucker was screening his calls. Can you believe that? One second Kinzie is leaving him a voicemail, the next it was gone. Just like that. I'm groaning because the big man won't answer his phone one moment, and the world is _literally_ gone the next. Everything destroyed in a blink, less than a blink."

Matt's chest was tight. He had not even considered imagining how it happened or what it had been like to see it. When she squeezed his hand he realized she was comforting him as much as he had been trying to offer the same to her. There was a little quiver in her grip, which prompted him to raise his gaze.

"You know he told me."

"Who told you?" Matt asked in a voice barely more than a whisper.

"Zinyak. He said that if I tried to get out of the yard again he would destroy the whole planet."

"Then why do it?"

Their conversation was slow and careful, more methodically planned out than any conversation Matt could ever remember having with anyone. He was cautious in the way he phrased his questions but Remy's replies seemed less designed despite their slowness in coming. He realized that she was working up to the admissions she was making. The hacker could see the effort it was taking to say these things; he could feel it in the change in her grip. It would tighten just before she spoke then loosen, which he presumed she did in case he wanted to pull away.

"I never did particularly well in boxes not of my own making. Plus," she noted with a little shrug, "I thought he was full of shit. I guess I should have realized earlier on that he was a little more like me."

The comparison floored him. He had seen her in action, even with some of the things she had done in the past, Matt would not have thought to align her with the alien overlord. "How so?"

"When he says it, he does it."

"Or maybe he thought it would make you back down. Make you give up."

"Fuck that!"

The response was all gut, instantaneous. It made him grin. Even now she was resolute, defiant, determined and Miller was glad for it. Her hand slipped out of his, and Matt felt a little dizzy for a moment, as if he was now floating free of whatever had anchored him in that conversation. In reply, he merely stared at her trying to maintain some type of connection that might keep him grounded.

"There's nothing left for him to take now really. Only Ben and Asha are still in the simulation, and CID keeps saying he's close."

"What about Johnny?" he asked carefully before wrapping both his hands around his mug and sipping his tea.

The protective posture returned, covering her eyes and taking a long drink from her mug. The voice almost sounded disembodied, like she was giving an answer she had to give rather than the one she wanted to give. "I don't know. Part of me thinks … knows Kinzie's right."

He leaned forward on one elbow and watched her. She was shaking her head. Then she looked up at him and he could see it-traces of the desperation that had been there when Remy ordered them to locate the plane simulation so she could get her best friend back. "It can't be possible, can it?"

Matt wanted more than anything to say _yes_, to see her smile, or relieve some of the strain, but it was too out of reach. _It would be cruel to offer hope were there was none, wouldn't it?_ But, God help him, that was precisely what he wanted to do. "I …" He shrugged one shoulder rather sheepishly. "I doubt it."

Eyes moving to the blank metal wall, Remy rested her cheek against her knuckles for a long moment. "Yeah, I know. Hey, look-" Remy swallowed the remainder of her tea in a loud gulp as she stood. "I should …"

Her voice faltered when Matt stood, causing her to look up at him. "What you should do is go into the cargo bay and give the sofa a go. It's not great, but it's a damn sight better than those bridge chairs."

"I couldn't-"

"I'm going to be upstairs anyway," he added, touching her shoulder lightly as he tried to steer her toward the bay. "There are blankets and pillows in the crate next to the couch. No arguing. And the doors are pretty soundproof, so no audience if … it happens again."

Remy looked up at him with the barest hint of a smile gracing her lips for a moment. "Thanks, Matt. Again."

"Like I said. Anytime."

The hacker watched her slip into his domain. He did not know if it might help, but at least he knew she might have a chance at a more decent rest than she had been getting. He leaned against the wall and pressed his head back against the cool metal; he was still reeling. The recordings already suggested some of the things she had admitted, namely that the alien's warning. But that was not the only part of that conversation that had the young Brit spinning.

There was one thing Miller never revealed to anyone. Of the things he freely admitted, his interest in Remy McGinnis was not one, but from the first time he saw her he had been intrigued. She was beautiful and dangerous, it was a powerfully intoxicating combination that he had never really been able to get past.

**-3-**

* * *

In Steelport with Loren and the Syndicate, Mat had found his first domain. The organization had power and prestige and was looking to expand. It also had a target, a very high profile target. Not too far away along the coast sat the city of Stilwater. Years earlier the city had been in the news for a very deadly gang war that really pushed some political hot buttons, but since then things had been calm. The underbelly of that city was controlled by one group-the Saints. While they had been a gang, the Saints had become a media sensation in the process and they were now something all together different.

Where the Syndicate was hidden behind the scenes, the Saints were blatant and visible. Their leadership was known, even admired. They had celebrity status. As one of the slogans for their clothing line stated, "Who doesn't want to dress like Johnny Gat?" It was this image that helped to make them the Syndicate's next target. Loren wanted that income, that legitimate business connection that would help add to his organization's ability to launder its less legitimate funds.

The Syndicate had believed the media representation of the Saints; they used to be dangerous, now the gang was more like a symbol-a lucrative symbol. Philippe Loren saw Remy McGinnis as a caricature of herself and assumed the maniacal murderess reputation was largely just a construction. He had tasked Matt Miller and his Deckers with gathering any and every detail he could about the Saints. In the end it had been the Saints' own security that offered some of the best information, and his first impression after cracking the security at the headquarters in Stilwater seemed to reinforce Loren's opinions.

Johnny Gat looked at the weapons that lay on the table disassembled then he looked at the corseted blond standing to his left and smirked at her. She returned the look. What seemed meant to intimidate did little more than amuse the woman. Remy McGinnis had to be the only person on the planet that could get away with that type of thing and not wind up bleeding profusely, the hacker realized as he leaned toward the monitor.

"You're going down, Boss."

"Like hell," she bit back. Her attention turned to the sexy brunette crossing the room. "Hey Shaundi, catch!"

"Are you two at it again?" she groaned as she caught the stopwatch.

"Fuck yeah! _She _keeps cheatin'," Gat said.

"He's just being a spoiled little diva, because he's getting slow in his old age," the boss chided. The taunt prompted Matt to pull up the dossiers there were only two years between she and Gat.

"You might be my best friend, but it doesn't mean I won't shoot you," the man said smoothly.

"So we can have matching limps?" Remy chided with a playful lift of her eyebrow and a big grin.

"Bitch."

"Pussy."

"Mark!" Shaundi yelled, to quell the devolving exchange. "Go!"

Johnny's laugh grumbled low. The boss was silent as her hands moved with speed and precision. Remy pulled back the slide and pulled the trigger on the reassembled pistol instances before Gat. Her victory immediately inspired a really horrible victory dance, just to taunt the man rumored to be more than just her best friend.

"She won," Shaundi said apologetically.

"I still say you cheated."

"How?" Remy replied. "It's the same gun. Fuck! I reassembled one of your damn guns this time, just so you couldn't bitch. It's almost like you forgot that I've been doing this since before I could read… _old man_."

Johnny lunged at her but she dodged him and hopped over the back of the sofa.

The security feed was crystal clear and even had audio, which seemed odd, but Matthew Miller did not question it. It was a gift, and meant he did not have to figure out how to get a bug into the loft. _It really was like watching over children_, he thought and the exasperated look on Shaundi's face seemed to reinforce that idea.

Remy was lithe and quick. Her smile was bright and her laughter rang in his ears as Gat tackled her. But she tossed him onto his back and was on her feet again quickly. Matt noticed that she was leading her friend, not fighting him. He would lunge or throw a punch. Then she would dodge out of reach, occasionally delivering a pulled punch, usually to the body, which was only meant to shock or slow. But the conflict fell away when Pierce Washington, one of the other lieutenant's walked into the room with a few beers.

The peace offering meant Shaundi did not have to play referee any longer. Remy climbed over the back of the sofa and dropped herself right next to Gat. In Matt's opinion they sat way too close to one another to be merely friends, and the tabloids had been speculating about the two of them for years. The Decker leader felt his opinion was solidified when she pecked him lightly on the cheek and leaned against him as the four of them drank and discussed Ultor's newest publicity stunt.

"Ugh!" Matt groaned when he learned that Josh Birk was even considering playing a Saint. _Completely degrading. He's so much better than that type of frivolous project_.

Even his ire over the project choices of the Nyte Blayde star could not wholly occupy his mind. For a reason Miller never could fully explain, even to himself, he left the security feeds from the Saints' headquarters and private residences up on one of his peripheral screens all the time. While he worked on gathering other information, he often listened, sometimes he watched. It was a habit he continued once the gang came to Steelport, first in the penthouse, then in other locations once they were wired as well. Every time Kinzie threw his people out of their systems, Matt would weasel his way back in.

At the time, it was something that had to be done. Looking back, Miller was aware of just how odd it was, because his reasons were not merely professional, as it were. She fascinated him. At first it had been the visceral, the corsets and the short skirts. Then there were the curious discoveries he had made digging into her past-hints here and there that led him to delve much farther than the Syndicate had required. The more he learned, the more concerned he became. Before that fateful plane ride the hacker was certain that Loren was about to light a fire they would not be able to contain. Every byte of information peeled back layers of the carefully constructed Ultor image of the Saints' boss and Matt started to realize that Remy McGinnis was not what she seemed.

It was as true then, as it was now.

**-4-**

* * *

McGinnis would have to agree with the hacker's assessment of the brown and beige monstrosity in the cargo bay. The sofa was not the picture of comfort, but it was a hell of a lot better than some of the other spots she had slept in on the ship. When she hit the top of the stairs she knew in a glance that she had been played, but not in a way that pissed her off. Matt was awkwardly leaned on one of the consoles, head resting on folded arms. While Remy did not like being lied to, she could not find it in her to be angry with him, considering that …

The realization hit her like a ton of bricks, as she crossed the room watching the sleeping programmer. She was used to Shaundi reminding her to eat during the day, especially if she got distracted, and since Kinzie joined the former agent had managed to keep the boss at least not completely in the dark technologically. In their own little ways all her people kind of did things to take care of the boss they way Remy did what she could to take care of them. But it was not a behavior she had expected from Matt.

Glancing down at him, he looked peaceful, innocent, but she knew enough to know that neither adjective really applied to him. Not now, not here. Leaning on the console next to his, Remy said is name with no response. Then she bent toward him and set her hand on his shoulder. "Matt … Matthew."

Uncertain why, it seemed using his full name stirred him. There was alarm in his sleep-dimmed blue eyes. She set a cup on the console; steam still billowing from the smooth-colored liquid-tea with cream and sugar, which she hoped she had neither over steeped nor over sweetened.

"You, Mr. Miller, are a liar."

He stammered at her for a moment, his still wakening brain trying to catch up with him.

"Relax, Matt," she assured with a soft smile. "I appreciate it, but in the future. Err on the side of caution and self-preservation, and don't lie to me."

The younger man blushed profusely and his eyes met hers cautiously. "I just know … we all know you haven't been sleeping. So I figured any little bit would help."

She shook her head at him, punctuating the movement with a tick of her tongue. "I should make you help me, except you look like death on a cracker."

"Still a damn sight better than you the last few weeks," Matt shot back, cradling the cup she brought him in his hands.

Remy's eyes widened in surprise. "Wow! Way to shoot a woman when she's down, Miller."

"Hey, you're the one that always told me to take any advantage I could get."

Two sips of tea and he was already more awake than she was after an hour. "You're one of those damn morning people, aren't you?"

"Not usually," he replied with a provoking smile.

Not sure if it was his intention or her inference, but Remy read implication in the look. What made it more powerful was the fact that she wanted there to be a reason beyond just the banter for him to look at her like that. She wanted there to be more than concern for your fellow man in his touch. She wanted there to be more than humane compassion in his actions. It was a feeling she had fought against for years-each time it reared up she stamped it down with a reminder that he was off limits.

"Well, I'm abandoning you to your way too unnatural chipperness," she announced as she turned and crossed to one of the simulation docks.

**-5-**

* * *

For the three hours she spent in the simulation, Remy was distracted, to say the least. She had actually walked right into a patrol with Kinzie yelling in her ear. After the third such random materialization at the hospital, Remy leaned against one of the ambulances and stared upward as the computer wizard currently monitoring her stupidity continued her diatribe, though none of it registered in the boss' head.

The myriad of reasons she had developed to keep Matt at a distance over the past four years allowed her to clearly remind herself yet again that even if foreign complications along the lines of international incidents and diplomatic nightmares no longer existed, personal ones still did. Matt Miller was firmly off limits-virtually untouchable. At least that was what the boss kept telling herself. But he kept popping up. Appearing when she least expected it-walking through doors and being compassionate, treating her like she was a person rather than the persona she spent decades honing. Of all the things Matt did, that was probably the hardest for her to work around. She could handle nice, she could handle gestures, but someone treating her like someone other than the boss, treating her like just plain Remy-that had not happened since Johnny died.

That errant little thought broke her calm contemplation. She immediately stood and fired off two shots at the high pitched voice yet again wondering where Brad was taking her that night. "He's not taking you anywhere. Fuck! Could you use some original dialog here, Zinyak? Shit! You're killing me, Smalls!"

"Boss? You doing all right?" Shaundi asked after the boss' yelling ended.

Remy suddenly realized Kinzie had stopped talking a while back. Her distraction must have finally pushed her friend over the edge, though the reaction was no wholly unexpected it was out of character for Kensington. But then everyone was acting a little out of character.

"Fuck if I know," the petite blond replied angrily. There were people still screaming and running around. "Oh, screw you people!"

_Definitely not okay,_ Shaundi thought as the gunshots resounded in her ears. When the clip was empty, the boss loaded another as her Lieutenant watched the information scrolling across the screen.

"Boss, you have some security forces in bound."

"Yeah, whatever."

Remy continued picking off civilians until the sirens arrived and then she turned her weapons on the virtual Steelport police in the sad gray uniforms. She took a little extra glee out of shooting that small town sheriff between the eyes whenever he showed up in one of the cars filled with reinforcements.

"The golden orb is in the area, Sweetie," Shaundi announced.

Both women knew Shaundi was only doing it to be helpful. Just like they also both knew McGinnis did not give a good goddamn about the orb, or the encroaching number of Zin, in that particular moment, though she had moved to the shotgun. It was a precise dance-fire off her shells, take cover, reload. When ran out of shells, it would get much more entertaining; another thing both women knew.

**-6-**

* * *

"Oh shit!" Pierce howled when Remy snapped the neck of about the fifth Sheriff to happen into the area.

Shaundi had lost count of the number of constructs the boss had gone through, after the first ten minutes. This was always Remy's type of thing, and Johnny's-hold off insurmountable odds. The boss had brought down enough heat that she had resorted to using the Zin weapons against their own men. And she was no longer pulling Dirty Harry moves. Instead the tiny blonde was shooting from cover incidentally offered by Zin with poor driving skills. The growing collection of cars surrounding the boss' position made the perfect firing nest.

"You know, Boss, I miss this shit sometimes. Like that time the Ronin tried to push back into the waterfront," Pierce said with a wistful grin.

"Yeah, the boss got shot _and_ stabbed during that remember."

"I know. But I didn't. It was awesome."

"Shit. Didn't Johnny beat me in that one?" Remy asked, shaking her hand after overheating the rifle. "Damn piece of shit. This is why I like people guns. I don't have to blow on the fucking thing, change a clip and carnage ensues."

"I don't know. After the Casino, I stopped playing that little game with you guys."

Remy laughed. "That is because even having to arm that damn bomb, Johnny still kicked your ass."

"Eh, screw you," Pierce said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"I see that's still a sore spot."

"Whatever. So, you want a hand or what?"

"Nah. I'll probably get over run or bored soon anyway," Remy replied, nonchalantly, as the weapon locked up on her again. "Seriously?"

Shaundi and Pierce both leaned over the graphic console and watched her jump onto the hood of one of the cars and start hitting Zin with the rifle.

"Silly piece of crap. Goddamn Mickey Mouse wannabe rifle," She annunciated each word as she hit aliens with the overheating weapon.

A lucky shot to the shoulder staggered her.

"Wait your turn," she growled in reply, tossing an ice blast in the general vicinity that the shot had come from. When she hit a frozen alien with the butt of the rifle, he shattered. The laugh it garnered was malevolent; neither of the lieutenants had heard that particular laugh in a very long time.

"All right you spiky little wrinkled bastards. I'm out of here," the boss announced before she jumped onto the tracks of the El running over the street.

Shaundi and Pierce shared a look, both of them hoping that Remy would be in a calmer mood once she got to the door and out of the simulation. CID was close but he did not know what to, which was a problem, because Remy had been adamant in her directive to the AI. She wanted Asha located. And his uncertainty about the target was not going to go over well.


	5. Confrontational

**Summary: **Remy's patience with CID is wearing thin. The time it is taking the AI to get a lock on Asha Odekar is starting to get everyone on edge. The boss has very defined ways she responds when she is on the edge, and few people who know her like it when she is there. Shaundi and Pierce inadvertently wind up pushing her a little closer to the precipice when they have a hand in telling Matt precisely what McGinnis is pushing CID to find.

**A/N:** Hugs and kisses, per usual, to the lovely and spectacular Chyrstis, fabulous reader and idea bouncer that she is. Her help with these pieces has been completely and indescribably valuable and helpful.

**Free to Be**

**04 Confrontational**

**-1-**

* * *

The clash and clatter drew attention from all parts of the ship. Kinzie jumped backward a foot or more just as CID went flying past her, in part under his own power, but he obviously had a little help from the boss who was hot on the AI's heels.

"I swear you electronic piece of shit. I warned you once already," the petite blonde growled ominously as she stalked toward the machine that darted past Kinzie.

Shaundi and Pierce had run down the other stairs in an attempt to cut the boss off when CID jetted past them. Remy's gaze was focused on the orb that was now making a monotonous sound that mimicked a scream of panic. Judging from the look on McGinnis' face, the damn thing had good reason to worry.

"Boss, hold up a minute," Pierce said stepping into her path, albeit reluctantly. "I know the little guy's kind of a dick. But we actually do need him."

"Pierce is right," Kinzie added from halfway up the stairs.

"Day by day he's proving himself more useless," Remy replied when she stopped. She stabbed at the air just past Washington's shoulder with every word, while she eyed the device floating behind Shaundi.

Pierce was just glad the familiar and intimidating gaze was not turned on him, even despite that fact he was not keen on standing in between Remy and anything really. It had happened a few times in the past with mixed results, but more times than not between the boss and what she was after was not smart place to find yourself, no matter who you were.

When Matt stepped out of the cargo bay, he stopped cold near Shaundi. The hacker said nothing; he merely observed the confrontation, trying to decipher the tension that everyone was radiating in that small space.

Remy looked up at Pierce, eyes full of fire. "Plus the little fucker zapped me. Again!"

"Aww, shit!" Pierce crooned, shaking his head. He glanced over his shoulder at the device that was now hovering defensively behind the combined cover of Matt and Shaundi. CID really needed _not_ to antagonize the boss anymore than he did naturally. Working the boss' nerves never panned out well for anyone.

"It was self-defense," CID argued, his voice wobbling like a frightened child.

It reminded Pierce of something Kinzie had told he and Shaundi-CID was like them. He had been alive once, not human, but something living, breathing, organic. The only difference was that the Zin had captured and killed him and his people. He was a very real reminder of just what could be waiting for them all.

Remy growled and inched forward. Pierce, gingerly, set his hands on Remy's shoulders, knowing the response it would garner. When she turned her ire on her lieutenant, he was expecting it and moved his hands out to the side a little so he was no longer touching her. It was a trait they all knew, though none of them really knew why she was so averse to anyone touching her, even friends.

No one knew where she had found the switchblade, but ever since she had, it was always on her person. The sound was very distinctive and it was one Shaundi and Pierce both knew well-they chalked it up to too much time spent with McGinnis and Gat. So when she flipped the blade open, Washington took a step back.

The boss looked past the three people now between she and CID. "Ten hours, Data Boy. Ten hours then I start prying off parts. You got me," she challenged.

"I cannot guarantee-"

"Ten. Hours." The finality in her tone even made Pierce's ass pucker. _This shit is getting out of hand. _

Folding the blade closed, McGinnis walked toward the heavy bag. When she noticed Kinzie, she offered the woman a little nod and an apologetic look. Then she looked right at Pierce. "When that bastard finds something, you let me know _immediately_."

"Sure thing, Boss."

"Immediately, Pierce! I mean it."

"Yeah, I feel ya. First thing," he replied. _Fuck, now I'm on the hook for this shit, too._ He, Matt, and Shaundi all turned and looked at CID. The three of them all but pushed the orb into the cargo bay. "So how close are you?"

CID's voice almost sounded scared despite the digitization. "I don't know."

"Oh, this is great," Shaundi fumed. "She's going to pull him apart piece-by-piece then we'll be well and truly fucked. All because you can't find-"

"Shut up, girl," Pierce cautioned in a sing-song voice with a quick glance at the hacker beside them.

"What is the president looking for?" Matt asked, looking from one to the other of them.

Pierce and Shaundi just eyed one another for a moment. Shaundi tipped her head at the kid. Washington furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head slightly. She replied with raised eyebrows and an emphatic look.

"Seriously? What the hell is going on?" Matt repeated.

Shaundi sighed in resignation and Pierce grinned, feeling just a little victorious. If he was going to be on the hook for CID's failing to find the target, then the least Shaundi could do was catch a little hell for revealing said objective

"The boss is trying to locate Asha," Shaundi said quietly.

Matt just stared at her. "What? Why?"

"I have no idea," Pierce replied. When the boss told CID, that locating the other spy was priority one Washington had been a little surprised too. He would have preferred they locate Ben, at least then someone on the damn ship would be able to talk Remy of her ledge when she got there again-and she always got there. _That woman is too damn high strung_.

CID hovered there for a moment. "If my theory is correct, she is concerned that Mr. Miller is outnumbered by former enemies and feels like an outsider."

"Shut up, CID!" Shaundi retorted with a harsh tone.

Sadly, the damn electronic idiot was dead on. When her own crew asked the boss why, that was the reason she had given them. Some fucking thing about cohesion and feeling like part of the group. The Saints were trying to include him, but even Pierce, who actually kind of considered Matt almost a friend, knew the hacker was not feeling the vibe. The MI-6 agent spent most of his time holed up alone in the cargo bay with his gadgets and his code. Kinzie was kind of the same way, but she at least peeked out of her little lair to hang out once and a while.

None of them really knew anything about Matt, except that he had screwed the Saints over, tried to kill Shaundi and the boss, and kept to himself. He was an outsider, and so far nothing the kid managed to accomplish had changed the fact that deep down they all kind of still saw him as the leader of the Deckers. Pierce doubted that even bringing Asha on board could help with that, though, maybe if she were around, the kid would climb out from under his digital rock once and a while.

"Shaundi," Kinzie's voice called, echoing off the bare metal.

The brunette groaned in response. "Be right there!" she yelled in response. "CID just find her, and fast. For all our sakes."

The lieutenant headed up to the simulation docks, while CID followed. Pierce adjusted his hat, fully aware that Miller was staring at him, but even in an awkward silence it only takes so long to find just the perfect jaunty angle.

"Is that true?" Matt finally asked.

"Boss has been looking for everybody," Pierce said with a non-committal tone which he hoped was reinforced by the shallow one-shouldered shrug.

"Then why did Shaundi say-?"

"Look, man," Pierce interrupted. "The boss knows her shit. She's been doing this crap a long time. She knows how to make people do things they didn't even know they could do. I stopped asking those sorts of questions a long time ago. All I know is she told Nuts-and-Bolts to find Asha. Then gave us some spiel about cohesion and people being part of the crew. Belonging and shit, ya know?"

Pierce pulled his hat off and ran his hand over his head a few times. "I guess it's like being canonized, back in the day. Your people bust your ass then pick you up and dust you off. They spilled your blood, you spilled theirs, and that makes you family, so to speak."

Miller said nothing, which was just not working for Pierce.

"Look it's not my call. We're all trying to make you feel like part of the crew, but you're still hiding out in this cave. So I guess she figures having someone you trust around will work out better than us failing at playing nice and pretending to be friends. She's trying to find you some family, kid."

**-2-**

* * *

A handful of hours split between beating on a leather bag full of sand and synthetic materials and breaking the simulation usually managed to calm the boss' irritation, but Remy knew that in about five hours she was going to have to pry some parts from the CID shell just to prove her point, and keep her word. She was not the type of person to say something and not do it. Though she had let the AI get away with shocking her again, but he had also been right, it was a defensive response to her trying to rip one of those damn antennas off when he told her he had not pinpointed Asha's location yet.

The last time McGinnis had to get a group together and in working order, she had Johnny around to beat people into submission and scare them into line, not that Remy was incapable of creating the same effect. But it always seemed to work better when the boss was more respected than outright feared, though there were those times when fear had to come into play. Usually people became frightened of Remy once they worked with her for the first time and saw precisely what she was capable of-at least that was where the true fear came from, the fear that could make you shiver with just a thought. But that type of unease paled in comparison to that which was created when someone beat you within an inch of your life, which is why she left that kind of intimidation to Johnny Gat.

This situation was different. Everyone on the ship, well, except maybe for CID, knew what Remy McGinnis was capable of firsthand, and CID was learning it fast. But the AI and Miller were also the only two that were working from a point of intimidation as their benchmark, rather than connection. CID was earning his fear of the boss. But the hacker in the cargo bay was working off his first impressions still. Or so it seemed to Remy.

"Are you really going to kill CID?" Kinzie asked between keystrokes.

Remy stretched as she stepped out of the dock. She crossed the few steps to the console where she noticed the bottle of water and one of the wrapped bar thingies the crew had discovered a supply of in their last raid on the mother ship. The fresh rations had run out, gone bad, or were fast approaching one of those, so the human rebels were basically down to whatever the hell these things were. Kensington had deemed them safe and nutritional, but they tasted like cardboard, though occasionally a fruity flavor would sneak up on you, if you were lucky.

"I should, but I won't. I am, however, going to pull off a few non-vital parts. Including whatever gives him the ability to shock me."

"That would be a power cell, and he needs those."

"Well, fuck. Guess I'll just have to go with one of those antennas like I originally planned. They're redundant right?" Remy asked, opening the bottle of water.

Kinzie laughed and shook her head. "The little one in the middle. That way Miller or I can get it soldered back on relatively quickly. The big one will take some rewiring. So please. Just the little one." Kinzie looked up at her pressing her palms together like the request was a little prayer.

Remy winced and groaned jokingly. "Fine." She took a bite of the bar, the faintest hint of peaches flavored the bland grainy texture. "Why the hell is it so quiet?"

"I think everyone's asleep, except CID. He's getting closer though. Come see."

Remy rounded the console and leaned over the redhead's shoulder. She had no idea what Kinzie wanted her to see. It was like a web of light, though there seemed to be a few points along the bright strands that were brighter than others.

"See, he's narrowed it down to five points." Kinzie leaned back in her chair and the boss sighed tiredly. "Of course, he cannot be certain if one of them is actually Asha. It could be Ben. Or neither." The last word was said much more softly and with a great deal of caution

"Damnit!" Remy spun away and kicked a chair over.

"I know. But it's not that easy, Boss."

"I know. I know. I get it. And I still have a headache from the last time you tried to explain it."

"I don't get why it matters so damn much."

"Remember what it was like for you at first?" Remy prompted, looking down at her friend.

Kinzie looked away.

**-3-**

* * *

The gunfire was a mite disquieting, but then it could be a rescue or something else entirely. A woman's voice was yelling orders and there was some rather unsettling laughter. As the gunshots got closer, the former FBI agent strained against the ropes that bound her. She found herself rather surprised that any of the Deckers were that adept at knot-tying, which meant there was little Kinzie Kensington could do other than lay there and await whatever would befall her when the gunmen reached the ship's bridge.

The door flew open and two Deckers dropped to the ground in quick succession. One of the trio was pretentious. _Who wears a white Italian wool suit and $2000 loafers on a mission_. The woman in heels must be out of her mind. Then there was the first person who came through the door, the one who the agent presumed had killed both men in the tight space with her. _Loose jeans and combat boots-sensible, though less than professional._ When the person leaned toward her, Kinzie held her breath for a moment when she saw the familiar face.

"You don't seem that excited about being rescued," the woman in heels noted. Kinzie did not think much of Shaundi or Pierce at first, at least not much beyond what she had read in their dossiers, which was the reason for her startled reaction at seeing the leader of the Saints on that boat in Steelport.

"I'm waiting to see if you were sent to kill me," Kinzie said way too calmly.

"Girl's pragmatic. I like her," Pierce said with a quick nod as he ducked back through the doorway.

The woman who had knelt over her, Remy McGinnis, quickly slit the ropes binding the former FBI agent's hands and feet.

"So what do you want with me?" the redhead asked as she stood, rubbing at her wrists.

"We heard you know some people who hate the Syndicate as much as we do," Pierce replied, firing three shots at a pair of neon-clad fools on a Shark.

"And I'm kind of in need of some people who know Steelport," the boss added as she crossed back to where they had entered.

"I might be able to help with that," Kinzie noted, watching the three of them. She was still uncertain about the situation, but at least she was not dead yet. The agent decided to hear them out since they had just raided a ship to talk to her.

"Good." Remy put one hand on Pierce's shoulder and he stepped out of the doorway. Two shots later the pair on the jet ski splashed into the water.

"Damnit, woman!" Pierce moaned. "I had it under control."

"Just like always," Remy said with a grin as she winked at him. "Let's go folks."

The three Saints escorted the "shitty Fed," as Shaundi had dubbed Kensington, to the stern of the ship the Deckers had been holding her on. A raspy sound drew the blonde's attention and Kinzie flinched when Remy shot the man again.

"He was already dying," the redhead noted with an admonishing tone.

"And now he's done. Get on the boat." Remy's tone was cool and detached, one could almost describe it as distant, sociopathic.

When Kensington hesitated, the boss grabbed her arm and all but threw her into the boat.

"Pierce, you're driving. Now, Miss Kensington," Remy began, pressing the agent onto the bench seat at the rear of the boat. "Information, please."

The former agent stared up at the blonde, mostly surprised that McGinnis had used the word _please_. It was not part of her modus operandi. According to her file the Saints' leader was not one for making requests. Demands? Yes. Requests? Not so much.

"Not until you tell me who told you where to find me," Kensington challenged before she lost her nerve.

Remy nodded at Shaundi who rattled off their rescue and subsequent association with Oleg.

"You all are the ones that got Kirrlov out?"

"You sound surprised," the petite blonde woman observed, as she checked the clip of her pistol.

Kensington knew it for what it was. It was an intimidation tactic; a fairly useful one in most cases, except that Kinzie had just been on a boat full of people using the exact same idea. Hell, she had already nearly died once that night, what did it matter if her killers were wearing glow-in-the-dark rave gear or enough purple to gag the grape ape.

"Actually, given your reputation, I am a bit shocked that you managed to pull it off," Kinzie taunted.

This drew the McGinnis' fuller attention, before Remy had been watching the city and the water, trying to seem disinterested in the target she was trying to coerce. Now her eyes were locked on the former federal agent. It was a miscalculation that the thin redhead regretted almost instantly.

"Boss," Shaundi warned.

Remy looked at her lieutenant. "I'm not going to shoot her, yet. Oleg says she could be useful. I'll give her a chance."

"You'll _give me_ a chance," the former fed scoffed, offended at the notion that of all people Remy McGinnis was suggesting that Kinzie needed to prove her usefulness.

"Girl, are you crazy?" Pierce chimed, glancing back at her.

"Look, Kinzie. I don't care if you know who I am or not. What you should realize is that the three of us just cut through about two dozen Deckers to drag your ass off that boat. I realize that they are just cyber geeks with automatic weapons, but not a lot of people in my line of work would do that for an FBI agent that got tossed out on their ear."

"That was-"

The boss shook her index finger from side to side, staring at the agent. "Ah, ah, ah. I wasn't finished. It is impolite to interrupt the person with the very powerful handgun," Remy reminded in a tone so calm it was menacing. "Now, as I was saying. We got you out on good faith. I personally think that deserves a little consideration in return. Oleg seems like a pretty stand up guy. He says you're good and that you could be a valuable resource. So, it's your choice really."

The sound of a round being chambered was ominous, and it also served to show that there was another option. Kinzie's night could proceed as the Deckers planned or she could take the offer the boss made her.

**-4-**

* * *

Coercion had quickly turned to friendship and respect. Kinzie had not actually anticipated that switch. Accepting an offer at gunpoint on a boat speeding away from the site of a slaughter had been an act of self-preservation. But shortly thereafter the boss loosened the reigns she initially set on Kensington. For the first several days, she felt more like a prisoner in the penthouse than one of the Saints, but once she proved herself, the boss loosened the security and gave the computer genius more freedom.

McGinnis set her up in a warehouse and put a patrol outside Kensington's place to keep her safe, and they were not allowed in Kinzie's inner sanctum until she allowed it. Then the former agent realized that whenever she needed anything it was merely a matter of asking. After working together for a while, Kinzie found the boss was much more malleable than she had been they met initially. That first night there was black and purple. Within a matter of weeks, Kinzie and Remy were on good terms, she actually felt like a Saint and not a coerced prisoner. At one point she wondered if it was Stockholm Syndrome or something like it. Oleg had found that hilarious, and eventually so did Kinzie.

"Yeah, Boss, I remember," the redhead said, glancing over at the person she now considered one of her closest friends.

"You felt trapped," Remy noted.

"I was trapped, you had guards on me."

The boss shrugged slightly as she gulped down a generous swallow of water in an attempt to combat the dryness of the bar she had polished off. "Yes, but you did try to sneak out."

"You basically told me I could help or die."

"I never _said_ that," Remy replied, gesturing at the programmer with her half empty bottle. "You inferred it."

"So you mean you would have let me go?"

Another shrug, paired with a little wince. "Not sure. I was in a desperate spot and still really pissed, even though we had already bowled over Loren."

Kinzie narrowed her eyes at the shorter blonde.

"Look, it was a fucked up period. I was working out some issues. And yes, I might have _insinuated_ that I would have shot you on that boat. But it was not the plan. I kind of figured that if I went that far you'd cave."

Kinzie's mouth dropped. "You played me?"

"Of course I did. Don't act so shocked. I do it all the time, to pretty much everybody."

"Not to me!"

"Anymore," the boss corrected nonchalantly.

"You know, sometimes I hate you."

Remy laughed as she stood and crossed the room. "Love you too, Miss Kensington," she said, throwing a little wave over her shoulder. "And try to get some sleep."

"You too, Boss," the computer genius replied.

**-5-**

* * *

McGinnis really did hope that Kinzie would listen to her and leave the console soon, though she knew it was just as likely that her friend would remain up there doing whatever it was she was doing for a few hours or more, if Kinzie let herself get distracted. Remy stopped asking CID, Kensington, and Miller what they were doing except in the barest sense, but even then all three of them would undoubtedly veer off into discussions that made desperate for a bottle of Excedrin. While she was not a complete technological failure, the boss was an amateur at best. Keith was dead on, she had next to no clue how to program her DVR, despite this, however, she knew enough to get by, though a great deal of her scant knowledge came as a result of the influence of Shaundi and Kinzie. Both women had taken it upon themselves to educate Remy beyond the high-tech weaponry she was familiar with and ingratiated her to the use of other devices of a less blatantly lethal capacity.

The crowning achievement had been when Kinzie got one of those electronic book programs on the boss' phone. Remy usually hoarded books and would lock herself away for hours to read. When the former fed discovered this she earned a metric-fuck-ton of brownie points by boosting the device's memory and giving the boss a virtual library in the palm of her hand. It meant she could sneak her favorite pastime anywhere and everywhere with no one being the wiser. It was one of those pursuits McGinnis hid, because it did not fit the expectation of her narrowly-defined reputation.

The boss rubbed at the tightness in her neck as she leaned into the doorway of the little rumpus room. Pierce was stretched out on the sofa with his hat over his face and Shaundi was awkwardly laid up in the two chairs in the room. Not seeing Keith among them meant he was probably holed up in the bridge.

_There is no way I'm sleeping on the pool table again,_ the boss told herself, surveying the darkened room considering her options. There was also no way in hell she was going near the little love nest that CID had set up for himself. One of the issues she had with the creepy AI was that he reminded her of those guys that wandered around Sunnyvale in their trench coats and fuzzy slippers. Remy was fairly certain that on his planet the AI was probably _that_ guy, flashing his junk to passersby.

When she ducked into the minimalist bathroom, she locked the panel by the door before she started running the water in one of the sinks. Sponge baths sucked, but the last few attempts any of them made at rigging a shower had failed pretty miserably. She was pretty sure she could get one set up, but they just had not happened across the right parts yet for her to make it happen.

While she distracted herself with possible ways to get them something even remotely resembling a usable shower, Remy lathered up her hands with a bar of soap then rubbed it through her hair. It was the only soap they had found so far, so they all made due. It knocked the grime off, and it did not smell like Ivory. _Little miracles, right?_ Rinsing out her long hair, she considered just shaving it all off again, for about the fifth time since the Zin invasion. But when she eyed her reflection she remembered why she would never do that again-the one time she had, Remy realized just how much she looked like her father, Liam McGinnis. The only part of her she got from her mother was the woman's height and her blonde hair, everything else was all Liam-everything.

Turning away from the mirror, Remy scrubbed up quickly. The slick feeling that stuck to her flesh despite the rinsing and scrubbing made her skin crawl. She resigned herself to the fact that she was going to have to find a way to rig up even a piss-poor version of a shower or she was going to wind up killing someone.

The ship was not as bad as it could have been it was rather large, and there were parts of it they still had not managed to get into. _Priorities_. Remy had set everything else aside in favor of getting back anyone they could find. Once her people were out of their Zin-created virtual prisons, she could deviate attention to other things. As it was, everyone had managed to find their own space and people did not feel stacked on top of one another, at least until it was time to grab some sleep. Then it was every man for themselves. She peeked back into the common room, but there was no change. Every non-metal surface save one was claimed.

Having already tried out the pool table and determined that the felt did not help the hardness of the wooden surface she recalled the sofa in the cargo bay. She mulled the option over with great hesitation. The reminder of a kindness paid, spurred the errant thought. A desperate thought, she knew. _Fuck it. Sleep is sleep._

Honestly Remy expected to find their resident self-proclaimed cyber god sprawled out across the beige-and-brown-plaid surface hugging his little handheld like a security blanket, but when she entered the bay it was dark, silent, and empty. Unsure where Matt might be, or if he was coming back any time soon, she opted to err on the side of decent human being. She was tired and sore, just the way she always felt after tangling with the simulation, and she really just needed a half-comfortable place to steal a few hours of sleep before she had to make CID's digital existence flash across his processors.

Remy kicked off her shoes and sat on one side of the couch, tucking her feet under her and wrapping her arms around herself. There was not enough comfortable space on the ship for her to sprawl out, and since she was invading someone else's territory, she opted not to be a total cunt about it. Wriggling in an attempt to find a comfortable spot, she recalled the springs in the sofa had a vengeful streak. Once she found a place where she was no longer being stabbed in the spine, she started wishing for a book.

Sleep never came easy for Remy. Before Zinyak came along and added some new nightmares to the playlist, her mind was already brimming with enough horror to make most people opt for drooling in a padded cell. Sometimes reading helped calm the demons long enough for her to get to sleep. But silence always seemed adverse to restful sleep for her. At that moment, she would have killed for anything-some Dr. Seuss or a haiku, whatever. Just a few words to pull her mind out of the place she was in.

With a heavy sigh she leaned her head back and closed her eyes. _Fuck! Pierce is right this thing does smell like someone's grandmother died on it_. She shivered for a moment, until she heard the light clap of bare feet on the deck. She opened her eyes and met the electric blue gaze of the person she had expected to find there when she entered.

"How's it going, Matt?" she asked without realizing until she said it quite how tired she sounded. She could not remember a recent time when her voice sounded quite that week. _Aww, shit_, she thought when she noticed the little shift in his brow.

Miller was not so oblivious and self-absorbed as most gave him credit for. Well, he was, but since joining MI-6 he seemed to have developed a few more skills in the art of perception. And Remy was certain he read the mere seconds of mortality she displayed.

The long-time leader of the Saints was not foolish enough to think herself immortal, but she had found that it always helped when people, including her own, wondered if there was a chance that she just might be. She guessed that most people figured she had signed some kind of compact with Satan himself, or so the tabloids and her opponents said. Remy did not run around like Samuel L. Jackson, a la _The Long Kiss Goodnight_, yelling, "You can't kill me, motherfuckers!" Though once or twice she had said it tauntingly in the heat of the moment, but it was never meant as any kind of true claim to immortality; she used it as more of a jeer directed at the failures of whoever was aiming to kill her and doing poorly at it.

Hell, even in her current situation, she, more than the rest of the crew, was entirely aware of just how fragile her mortality was. But the difference was the boss did not advertise it, could not advertise it. Remy did not get to hide in alcoves, or complain that past versions of herself were haunting her, or whine about people and things from her past trying to kill her. She just had to do something about it, all of it. And everyone needed to believe in the idea that she could do something about Zinyak, the simulation, their still missing friends, and maybe even Earth. Remy was also aware that in that one slip with Matt, she might have just jeopardized that fragile construction.

"Didn't mean to invade," she said with a short chuckle at her own poor word choice. "I couldn't handle another round on the pool table again. That felt offers a false sense of implied comfort and every other non-metal surface seems to have been claimed."

"There's always-"

"No one is stupid enough to voluntarily lose consciousness in a room with CID, least of all me," she interrupted.

Matt laughed. It was clipped and nervous. Remy could not be sure why he still seemed anxious around her. She felt they had already hashed out him trying to kill her, and to his favor his attempts had been some of the most creative and original to date. But they had already talked about all this and she thought she made it clear she harbored no grudge about it. The boss figured that would have offered some relief to his nerves. Then she wondered if maybe he was picking up on her vibe, reading her own struggle interacting with him; it was a possibility she did not really want to consider. She would just have to try harder to keep it under wraps

"Tired?" he asked, cautiously crossing to the console he had set up in the bay so he could get away from, well, everything, and still be useful.

Her eyes moved from him to the sofa and back. He seemed to read the non-verbal cue and took a seat. "Tired doesn't begin to cover it. I still can't fathom how I can feel so completely drained after those damn sessions. I mean literally, I feel sore."

"Part of it is psychosomatic."

Remy stopped rolling her stiff shoulders and looked over at him with a trace of exasperation.

Miller shook his head and laughed. "Basically it is just the way your mind and your body are reacting to the stress of the whole situation. You know that old saying that it's all in your head."

"Screw you."

"I didn't mean it like that," Matt replied. He shifted, turning toward her. "The simulation is almost entirely a mental reaction, while the body lies dormant in the dock. So your mind is doing all this work and all these things. You feel sore, because your brain thinks your body should feel sore after running for miles, jumping over cars, and beating alien constructs to death with your bare hands, and everything else you tend to do in there."

"You could have said that in the first place," she chided.

"I did."

She laughed lightly, shaking her head. "I swear. You and Kinzie. Any idea how CID is doing?"

"You mean on locating Asha?"

Remy closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the sofa. "Let me guess. Shaundi?"

"Pierce figured having stood between you and CID was his life-threatening act of the day."

"He was probably right," she replied, rubbing her hands over her face.

"So is the bot, right?"

"About?" she asked, from under her hands.

Matt was quiet long enough that Remy turned her head and looked at him. He was fidgeting with his tie.

"So what is CID's theory?"

"That you're worried." He finally looked over at her, eyes bright and curious, then added, "About me."

It was her turn to try and derive a response. "I'm worried about all of us. And Asha would be a boon. Someone with her training and skill set would be very valuable. Useful," Remy stated, looking down at her arms as she recrossed them over her chest. It was not quite untrue, but it was not the fully unclothed truth of her motives. She felt it sounded probable, hell, she was convinced, mostly.

"Yeah. You're right," Matt replied, the tone in his voice suggested a hint of disappointment. When she looked at him, he refused to meet her gaze. "You should get some rest, in case CID finds something."

Remy watched him walk out. There was no other choice. How would she even stop him? Yes, she was worried about him. Yes, she wanted him to feel like part of the crew. And, yes, there was more to it than all of that, but she could not own up to any of it, least of all to him. Three years earlier, Remy had chosen this line; it was not an easy one to walk, but she had been doing it so long it felt like second nature.


	6. Questioning

**Summary: **Matt and CID manage to pinpoint Asha's signature before the boss' timeline runs out. But Remy's not prepared for what she finds in the super spy's simulation. It brings up questions she thought she already had the answers to.

**a/n: **Thanks again Chy. *hugs*

**Free to Be**

**06 Questioning**

**-1-**

"I'm trying to save your ass, you uppity machine," Matt declared calmly. "I'm not sure how you got through shocking her again unscathed, but I've seen that look she gave you before. She's going to start dismantling you in a few hours if you don't have something concrete."

"The agent's signature is proving exceedingly difficult to pinpoint."

"Is it because of their unfamiliarity with one another?"

"Clarify, please."

"In going through the logs, Kinzie said that you were locating people based on commonalities in encoding based on memories and shared experience. Asha and Re- … the president had very limited contact."

CID made no reply initially. "That is an interesting theory, but I was able to locate your signature fairly easily, which would suggest that would not be the case."

Matt rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. "Except that the president and I have tried to kill one another. Bit of a defining moment, you could say."

"Indeed, perhaps that is part of the key. The emotional connection to the situations."

"That would certainly explain why you are having trouble locating Asha," Miller replied with a laugh.

"Do explain yourself, Mr. Miller," the AI requested.

"Agent Odekar is very good at her job. She is very detached. From everything. She does not connect with people, events, or anything too closely. Emotion clouds performance and judgment," he said rather more quietly than he intended. "Or at least that is what she always told me."

CID bobbed up and down slightly then seemed to settle a little closer to the ground. "More."

"Pardon?"

"Your input could help me better refine my search. Please, more data."

"It is not really data, CID."

The AI buzzed at him like an irritated typewriter.

Matt held up his hands. "Fine, fine. Whatever you say. She is calculating and thinks out her actions in advance like a chess player. She's deadly and can pretty much pick up any weapon and use it."

"No good. I assumed that she mirrored your president in that manner."

Matt stared at CID for a long moment. "She's not my president. She's not _my _anything, really," he said quietly, recalling the conversation that led him to hide out in the AI's dungeon in the first place. The device just seemed to stare at him, though it did not have any other option, really, Matt considered. He shook his head quickly.

"Asha is protective. Watches out for people," Matt stated, his tone implying a question of the usefulness of his information. As he described the woman he had been working with since joining MI-6 seven years earlier, the programmer watched the orbs responses, both virtually and physically. A smile started to curve his lips when he watched two of the bright spots fade back into the map on his handheld. _Down to three_, he thought as he checked the time. _Three hours left. We might be able to pull this off._ Miller started wracking his memory for details that might help CID zero-in on the woman who had trained him, worked with him, who was one of the few people he could actually call a friend.

**-2-**

An hour before the deadline she had set, Remy was sitting in the simulation room with Kinzie, Shaundi, and Pierce. The redhead had informed them that CID was down to two signals, and while the others stared at her screen, Remy watched a clock tick down slowly. Her switchblade lay on the console near her thigh and she was leaned back in the chair with her fingers laced behind her head. It was clear that no one in the room picked up on the tension in her body; she chalked it up to them being just as tense, just as on edge, though Remy had an extra reason for her own added edge.

"We found the signature," Matt announced from behind her.

The triumph in his smile seemed to falter a little when Remy glanced at him over her shoulder. It was a tiny reminder of her push. _It's better that way_, she thought, turning away and eying the dock.

"Does he have the cipher yet?" Kinzie asked in that fast-paced voice she got when something needed to be done right now.

Remy tuned them out. Her mind stuck on repeat bouncing between that disappointment in his voice earlier and that little falter in his eye just now. She looked up at the ceiling and shook her head slightly. _You should come with a fucking warning label_, she told herself. _Keep away from humans or anything with squishy parts or feelings that could get hurt._ What made it worse is that she had heard that voice before, seen that look in his eye.

Picking up her knife and tucking it into the pocket on her thigh, she stood and crossed to the docks. "Guess CID, lives another day. Let me know when you have the cipher," she announced, fully aware she was interrupting whatever the hell they had been talking about. There was a moment of stunned silence as she waited for Pierce to close the dock on her.

Remy could kill time while the cipher was completed. It was a damn sight better than doing nothing and letting her mind run away with her again.

**-3-**

Every other time the mission started things felt the same, but this go around Odekar had a subtle inkling of hope, maybe with both of them they could accomplish the mission. Maybe all Asha needed to get the job done was back-up, though there were times when she wondered. McGinnis' style was not Asha's cup of tea. The woman was brash and brazen. Sure, she had skill, but her ego was intense and sometimes too much. Remy was good and she knew it.

After kicking the grating open, Remy lowered herself through the opening, dropping to the floor below. As the other woman swept the area, Asha recalled the one thing she did like about Remy. Despite everything else, the woman was a professional and she knew how to handle herself. It was about the only thing Odekar did not have to worry about with the leader of the Saints.

As much as she hated to admit it, except for her ego and the fact that Remy was a little more aggressive in her tactics, Asha did not mind working with the former-gang-leader-turned-politician. She could fight, she could shoot, and she was damned reliable when things got hairy. _Yeah. This could work. Maybe._

"Stay on guard, Mr. X could be hiding anywhere," Asha ordered after hitting the ground a few feet from the shorter blonde.

"Asha."

"What the-" Remy muttered at the sound of the voice.

Asha held up her hand quickly to silence her. She did not want Mr. X to realize that the tactics had changed.

"I thought you knew me better than that. Why would I hide when I can kill your friends in front of you?" the evil twin queried mockingly.

_And the taunting begins_, the agent thought.

"Say hello Matt," Mr. X ordered with a maniacal smirk on her one-eyed mug.

The agent ignored the sharp intake of breath from behind her. She had experienced a similar reaction the first time around.

Matt looked haggard like always. It could have been from a beating, or maybe the Masako goons had drugged him. His head lolled toward the camera, and as always he only said, "Asha, I-," before the single shot silenced him. The orange clad operatives dropped his body to the ground, the camera focusing on the kid she had been working with for seven years before going back to her target.

"Good talk." Mr. X holstered her weapon as the camera returned to her face. "Wow, you're cold. Johnny cried like a little bitch when his girlfriend got killed."

"I'm not going to give you the satisfaction," Asha replied tersely. It was not the time, nor the place. Either way, she had seen it enough times to know it was not real. She had reacted the first time-been appalled and angry. It did not help then, and would not help now.

"Ooh, I love it when you talk tough," the evil McGinnis taunted.

"Then you're gonna fucking love me you piece of shit." The lithe little blonde darted out of the shadows. Her ire was peaked. It was the type of reaction X had been hoping for out of Odekar, the agent knew.

Asha touched the president's shoulder lightly, trying to get her grounded again. She needed the other woman calm, with her head in the right place, not irate and off the handle. Remy shrugged her off, glaring at her evil twin.

"You …" X crooned.

"See you soon." Remy blew a little kiss at the screen right before the evil version of herself growled and cut the feed. "Guess no one ever told her you're not supposed to wear white after Labor Day. Let's go."

Odekar, taken aback slightly by the reaction that McGinnis exhibited, followed without a word, but she watched the other woman even more carefully now. When asked, the agent revealed what was happening in the facility. Mr. X was cloning Remy, well, herself, both of them really-the mission briefing, which detailed the operation, had described it as the replication of a highly sociopathic paradigm. With that exact description, McGinnis grimaced. Asha was well aware of the other woman's denial of that particular descriptor.

"You know I'm not really a sociopath. I mean, sure, I have some sociopathic tendencies, but really, who doesn't?" Remy mumbled. "Have you seen that list? You've got at least a few of those markers, too."

Thankfully the conversation was cut short by the ingress of a crew of Masako agents. Clearing the path toward the center of Mr. X's compound was running fairly smoothly this time. The last time Asha had failed she was limping through this hall with her belt cinched around her thigh to stem the blood flow of a critical shot to the thigh. By that comparison, this go was stellar.

After clearing a third squad the two women took a moment to regroup. Remy looked over at her several times, but never said anything.

"What?" the agent asked finally.

McGinnis' mouth tightened, as she chewed at the inside of her cheek a moment. "Listen, Asha. About Matt-"

Shaking her head, the agent held up her hand. "Don't. I'm not sure what this whole thing is, but it isn't real. While I don't relish the idea of seeing someone I care about being murdered over and over again, I also don't see the purpose to needless blubbering."

"Hey I was just-"

The defensiveness in McGinnis' tone hardened Odekar's resolve. "Focus. On. The Job. That's all I need from you right now."

The petite blonde lifted her suppressed SMG, slamming a fresh clip into the weapon. "Rock the fuck on! Let's go kick my ass!"

**-4-**

Remy did not have a chance to consider anything that had happened in the simulation too long, but it all shook her-Matt's death, the conversation with Asha over the dead body of her evil twin, and the fact that she was someone's nightmare. When the dock opened and she stepped out, the boss laid her hand on the console near her to steady herself. Her head spun for a moment, but this time it was not merely an effect of leaving the simulation.

"Tell me we're close," she breathed heavily as glanced over at Kinzie.

"Yep. Be there in ten."

Her friend seemed preoccupied with whatever was on her screen. If Pierce noticed anything, he did not mention it. He merely nodded at Remy and the two turned toward the rear of the ship. Pierce said stayed silent as he followed the boss aft to the cargo bay.

"Why aren't you using the power armor, Boss?" her lieutenant asked as they trotted down the stairs.

Remy had not been expecting to see Matt in the bay, though when she did it seemed completely appropriate. They were retrieving his partner; of course, he would be there.

"Kinzie says there's a bug in the programming that keeps making the weapons lock up," Remy explained. When she reached the table she picked up one of the alien rifles Miller had laid out for their infiltration onto the mother ship to retrieve the super spy, as the hacker had dubbed Odekar prior to McGinnis entrance into the MI-6 agent's nightmare.

"We've been trying to run it down," Matt injected. "But it's still not stable."

"And I'm not taking any chances. So we go back to the old standby," Remy noted, grabbing a pistol. "Just try to keep up."

"I'll be fine," Matt griped.

The other two turned and looked at him. Remy had been talking to Pierce, who had a tendency lag behind her when things got thick. It was not hiding so much as letting himself get pinned down; it was a trend that irritated her to no end.

"You're not going," Pierce said in a tone that suggested there was a question about it.

"The hell I'm not!"

Washington straightened as if to argue the point, but Remy's upheld hand stopped him. With a quick nod of her head, her lieutenant left to check on their arrival window.

"Matt," she said with a calm guiding voice. "Look at me, Miller. I understand you want to help. But I can't take you onto that ship."

"I'm not asking," the young man all but growled.

"Neither am I." The boss' tone was more severe.

"She's my partner. My friend. My responsibility," he argued. The look in his eyes was one she knew all too well-guilt. He was here, relatively safe. She was not.

Remy took a step toward him, setting her hand on his shoulder at the juncture of his neck and his eyes rose to her face. Her heart was racing, recalling the scenario that played out in Asha's simulation. Even knowing it was not real, she still reacted to her evil self shooting him-overreacted, as it were. Her pulse was thudding through her veins again and her chest tightened with the memory of it. Looking up at him, she felt the same fear, the guilt that had haunted her in that moment when the gun went off and the Masako agents dropped his lifeless body to the ground. Despite the fact that he was standing in front of her, perfectly fine, Remy still felt the desperation and loss, the fear-she could still hear the shot that interrupted what she assumed was an apology for being captured, for failing.

"I know. And you helped CID narrow down which signature was hers. You've done your job. Now let me finish mine."

Matt's jaw tightened. There was defiance in his eyes for a moment before he nodded his acquiescence. Remy smiled and patted his cheek. When he held her hand there for a moment, gazing at her intensely, everything slowed and her mind clouded.

**-5-**

Matt refused to let go of her hand when Remy tried to retreat; he just stared at her trying to stop the boss from drifting off again. But he could not keep her there, could not anchor her in that fleeting moment. The surprise and fear swirled in her eyes. As the bay door motors began to whine, her fingers slipped out of his grasp.

"Hey Boss," Pierce called, returning from the bridge at brisk jog. "If we hurry, we should be able to catch up to her."

Remy grabbed the rifle off the table and walked purposefully to the end of the ramp. Once the ship was close enough to the platform, the boss hopped down with Pierce right behind her.

Turning toward the open door, Miller felt nailed to that spot, frozen. He watched the two of them move down the platform with sturdy determination. When the massive heavy door closed again, Matt was alone; abandoned to his thoughts, his worry, his fear, and a new and striking shred of hope. It was the most overwhelming sensation he could remember. That little glimmer in the encroaching darkness was blinding, warm, and dizzying-even more so than that night in Prague.

The metal of the table was cool. First he pressed his palms against the smooth surface then he leaned across it, pressing his face to it in search of relief from his stupor. As he closed his eyes, his mind tricked him, convinced him he could still feel her lips on his. Unexpected, it felt like an illusion. Even though he was entirely certain that it had actually happened, it made no sense. _Why? Why him? Why now? This place, this time. _He could not explain this anymore than he could decipher what had occurred three years earlier.

Allowing himself to slip to the floor, he glanced around the cargo bay quickly until his gaze settled on a blue light, small and steady, but out of reach, just like her. She had always been that way. That was a lesson he learned firsthand in a lavish garden in the Czech Republic. It was also the night he found out she could dance. Matt pressed his fingers to his lips as the ruefulness seeped through him and he fell into a memory he usually kept sequestered in the deep recesses of his mind.

The small chamber orchestra bespoke the lavishness of the affair, though it was only one aspect of the event that marked it as a high society function. Asha was interrogating the man she and the blonde had kidnapped hours earlier, while Matt and Remy were tasked with finding his contact at the party. A face was all they needed, though a name would be better.

Miller should not have asked her to dance, but McGinnis looked so bored. The slight sway in her hips, as the music wafted on the cool evening breeze that swirled through the ballroom through the several open French doors that faced the impeccably manicured gardens, suggested she might be amenable to his proposal. It was outside of mission parameters, or at least that was what the voice in his head told him each time he considered asking her to dance. Finally the young agent overruled that cautious voice, which had begun to sound deceptively like Asha's. The strangest part of it all was that he did not really ask.

Matt crossed the room with his eyes locked on his target, weaving through the mass of people effortlessly. When he reached her, he plucked the glass out of her hand, setting it on the piano. Remy looked at him with a trace of confusion on her brow and a clear question in her eyes. Matt did not explain himself; he merely took her hand, led her the few feet to where others were dancing, and pulled her into the strong hold his father had taught him as a boy.

Apparently, waltzing was like riding a bicycle, because he had somehow not forgotten the dance. To his great surprise, Remy followed his lead as they glided across the oak parquet floor with the other dancers. It was the first time he remembered really noticing her eyes-the color, the expressiveness, the beauty-and they never left his for a moment. Even then, in that innocent exchange she intoxicated him with a look, reminded him just how young and foolish he was-too much like a boy playing at being a man; although he knew part of that was of his own making. Matt had been fascinated by her longer than it was prudent to admit, but in that moment none of that came into play.

Intense was a word often used to describe the leader of the Saints. Her presence was palpable, and as he directed her body through a Viennese Waltz the way she looked at him surprised him. There was no trace of what he remembered from their last face-to-face encounter.

Since her arrival in Prague, Remy had only looked at him with a shocking amount of respect. She listened to him, even when Matt knew he had veered beyond her knowledge base; in her eyes he could see a professional consideration for him. Though that night, as he held her in his arms, he thought he saw … maybe, hoped, was a better word. Matt hoped he saw that he was not the only one drowning out a voice in the corner of his mind, laden with warnings about propriety and reminders of duty.

When the song ended, her hand squeezed his as her eyes darted toward the door. He noticed what she had quickly enough to see a burly man with a red tie slip out into the gardens. Remy's hand was tight around his as she dragged Matt out into the darkness. They quickly found the man, and another, they presumed to be the contact. Silently, they snapped a few pictures hoping to get one with enough feature detail to analyze later for an identity. Then the men started on a stroll and both operatives knew they were likely to be found out in the little blocked alcove.

Matt still remembered the utter shock he felt when she grabbed his lapel. Her lips fitting to his stalled his brain entirely. The shock faded as the footsteps scraping against the rocks became more clearly audible. His response was cautious at first, setting his hands on her waist before letting his desire run off with him. It was a sensation he had imagined-kissing her, embracing her-but dreams always pale in comparison to reality.

The move made in desperation took on a new tenor as he wrapped his arms around her. Remy's fingers twined in the hair at the back of his head, nails stroking gently, as the tension in her lips faded. A kiss of necessity, an act meant to fool curious onlookers, quickly became something frighteningly and fantastically real. Once the footsteps passed their location, the two of them reluctantly parted. When he looked down at her, he saw the same thing in her eyes that he had seen there on the ship after she kissed him for the second time-surprise and fear.

The stammered apology offered in whispers was punctuated by her thumb trying to dash away the crimson evidence of their exchange marring his lips. As she fumbled to disguise what had happened, Matt battled against the desire to do it again. The only difference would be that this time, the kiss would not be an attempt to conceal their presence and purpose; it would be to announce his interest, his desire. Sadly, his resolve took too long to solidify. Remy tugged him out of the garden and back into the party; upon reaching the door, her hand slipped from his, she let him go and drifted away into the crowd.

That night, just like on the ship, he watched her fade away into the distance for a time, but when Remy returned to him later there was no trace of the woman from earlier in the evening, there was no evidence of the woman who had kissed him in the garden. As Matt rested his elbows on his knees, he stared at that blue light in the cargo bay and became certain that would happen again. Remy would slip away from him and hide away-just as she did that night, and just as she had been over the last several weeks since breaking him out of the simulation.

There were moments of connection, where she would talk with him, interact with him freely, openly. Then in a matter of minutes or hours, the distance would return. Remy mimicked the ebb and flow of the tide in that way. He did not know what could have prompted her to crash into him the way she had before she returned to the mother ship for his partner, but he feared that her normal pattern combined with Asha's retrieval would cause the boss to withdraw even farther than usual. It was not a thought he relished.

**-6-**

Asha leaned against the sink and glanced down at her thigh. _Rookie mistake. Can't believe you let that happen._ She met her own eyes in the mirror, the memory of repeated failures still fresh enough to sting. In some circles she was considered one of the best. _The best. Ha! You couldn't manage taking down one sociopath without the help of another._

The light knock on the door made her look away from the person she was pissed at. "In," she called sharply. "Well, speak of the devil."

"That would explain why my ears were burning," the other woman observed with a wide smug grin.

_Was she always this cocky?_ The president was leaning in the doorway with that goddamn look of self-satisfaction that made the MI-6 agent want to deck her.

"I come bearing gifts. Well, medical supplies," Remy said, shaking the large white box. "Those look pretty ugly."

"Yeah, well."

"That nutrient crap can be disorienting."

Asha tilted her head at the shorter woman. She was giving her an out, excusing Asha's misstep. It was something she would expect from a friend, from a colleague, but not from Remy McGinnis. The blonde opened the kit and sat down near the sink.

"Those damn things scar up like a bitch," the gang leader noted as she slathered a thick silvery concoction on the wound on Odekar's lower back. "You can get the thigh yourself, agent."

"Thanks," Asha noted, taking the little white jar.

McGinnis placed a bandage over the wound. Then stood and washed her hands. "Not a problem at all."

Odekar toyed with the lid on the jar for a moment, before she opted to speak. "You know it was more about the repeated failure than you in power."

"What?"

"All that. It had next to nothing to do with you."

"Oh. Umm… Yeah, I get it. I mean I'm kind of the same way. Get the job done. We just tend to get there from different routes," Remy said, toweling her hands dry.

"That's putting it mildly," Asha laughed. "You're not Mr. X."

"I know. I have a lot less facial hair," Remy said, cringing.

The two of them both laughed lightly.

"True, and you look better as a blonde."

Remy chuckled lightly as she leaned against the sink. "That's for sure. You should be good to go."

"Appreciate it. All of it," Odekar stated quietly, neither meeting one another's gaze.

The president left the agent alone to gather herself and handle the second wound that Asha could reach on her own. It should not have mattered, any of it. Odekar was not even sure why she had mentioned the simulation, except that she felt a little guilty about having mentioned the other woman's family and it seemed to have disturbed the president as well.

_There's nothing for it now,_ she thought as she zipped up the jumpsuit. Everyone was gathered in the circular room on the lower deck, and Asha made her way there. The absence of their boss did not escape her notice. She crossed to Matt and clapped him on the shoulder.

"It's good to see you again, Agent Miller," she greeted with a little bit too much relief. "Really good. So, give me the skinny."

Matt just looked at her carefully for several moments. "Well, there is no easy way to put this. Earth is gone."

"I know. The president told me," she stated plainly. It still seemed a little far-fetched, but the desperate look in Pierce's eyes had suggested it was all true.

"Of course. I guess she would," Matt replied flatly, his eyes moving to the blonde who had been pulled into the room by Washington.

"Are you doing all right, Matt?"

"Stellar." He looked down at his hands then straightened. "Want some tea? I think I'm going to make some tea."

Asha stared after him as her partner exited the room, but she was not alone for long.

"Are you feeling okay?" Kinzie asked with what sounded like genuine concern.

"Besides being repeatedly sick, I'm doing fine."

"Good. Just a heads up. You'll probably feel like hell for a few days."

Asha's crooked smiled belied her amusement. "I doubt it. I have the stomach of a goat, or so my father used to say."

"Mine always told me I had the forehead of one," Remy chimed from across the room.

"I'm pretty sure that is completely true."

Remy shrugged with a little tilt of her head. "Touché."


	7. Motives

**Summary: ** Matt finds himself entirely distracted by Remy's behavior once Asha arrives on board. Still trying to puzzle out the kiss, the boss surprises him yet again. But as with so many things, Matt's logical brain, so agile and on task when it comes to programming, technology, and code, takes him on a torturous deviation. *Smut ahead, consider yourself warned*

**a/n: **Thanks to Chy for agreeing to be my guinea pig.

**Free to Be**

**07 Motives**

**-1-**

After Asha's return, Matt wondered if his worries became a self-fulfilling prophecy. Matt was fairly certain she was avoiding him, but he knew the boss' reaction was not exclusively to him. For the first few days after rescuing his partner, Remy went back to her former pattern. McGinnis went from the simulation to the bridge, locking herself away from all of them. It was much the same schedule she had exercised when he first arrived on the ship.

Then she started in with the bouts of her unique brand of encouragement with CID in an effort to locate her Chief of Staff. At that point Matt would stumble across her from time to time as she wandered the ship, staking the corridors like a caged tiger. Whenever they were in the same place at the same time, Remy would remove herself. Miller initially chalked the behavior up to coincidence, but that excuse only went so far. He eventually became entirely certain that there was a direct correlation between his presence and her absence.

The cursor on the screen blinked at him-it felt like it was mocking him, even though he knew that was entirely in his head. Everything was swirling around him, it was dizzying. He slammed a palm against the workstation irritated with his lack of focus. Even back in Steelport she had not distracted him quite so much. Of course back then he was just hacking her security, gathering information, and watching security feeds.

Stepping away from the console, Matt fell onto the sofa and pulled his knees to his chest. As he scrubbed his hands through his hair, he could not help feeling like he was in Prague all over again. The same thing had happened there. They got out of that party and she left him with his tech, running the photos they got through facial recognition databases, while she tucked away in the basement disassembling and cleaning weapons over and over again.

Remy had avoided him for the rest of that mission, at least until the last day when she saved his ass. Somehow he had missed the trace on their activity; Matt later chalked it up to his preoccupation. He had spent too much time trying to figure out what if anything that moment in the gardens meant, and what if anything he should do. It was the same set of questions he found himself dancing around again. He picked up the personal console and eyed the cipher CID was working on, trying to distract himself from his distraction.

The boots hit the metal deck of the bay with a loud clunk, which drew Matt's eyes from the handheld device he had picked up. He leaned forward slightly and looked around. He did not see her initially. But when her jumpsuit hit him in the face, he guessed the boss had not noticed him either. He watched her set up a small device and the cargo bay filled with music. It was not what he expected-he would have thought she would play some kind of gangster rap or the rhythm & blues he had heard her play in her office in Steelport.

Dubstep did not seem like her style. Matt tried to place the piece. He was fairly certain who it was not but he could not precisely place the song, though he knew he heard it before. Initially he could not help but wonder if McGinnis was aware of his presence and merely ignoring him, but when she crossed to the back of the bay he realized it would not matter if anyone was in there. Even from his vantage point, the boss was barely visible when she started stretching. He bit the inside of his cheek for a moment, before he craned his neck to peek over the low crates.

Watching the lean muscle move under her skin, he could not help thinking that no one could guess she was in her thirties. Perhaps that was because even when everyone thought the Saints had gone soft, Remy still kept busier than Pierce and Shaundi. She and Gat never really stepped completely away from the old life. Though their excursions were more limited than they had been before, their activities were also better disguised and covered up by the press geniuses in the Ultor Media Group.

The tightness in his groin made him roll his eyes and shift slightly. Remy was still gorgeous. _Light blue eyes, brilliant smile, and an ass you can bounce a quarter off of_, he observed with a note of visceral appreciation. Watching her move with such fluidity and so little clothing made his body more rebellious than usual, most of the time he could control his reactions to her, at least long enough to get out of her presence. He knew he could do the same thing now. _Just get up and walk out of the bay, _he told himself to no avail. Matt wanted to see her, wanted to watch her, just wanted to be around her.

His mind played horrible tricks on him as she moved through a prescribed set of poses. Yoga with its calming attributes was not something he had expected to see her so adept at. Sparring, beating on a heavy bag, yes. Target shooting, yes. But not the supple movements and deep breathing that were the hallmarks of yoga. He knelt on the couch to get a better view and stared transfixed at her ass as she folded forward. He nearly fell off the arm of the sofa when she rolled her body slowly from a down dog to a cobra. Her hips pressed to the floor her chest lifted, head back as she exhaled deeply.

Matt hissed out a breath and fell back into the sofa, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. _What are you doing? She is not here to entertain you. Daft cretin._ He shook his head. _Acting like some damn hormonal teenager_. The boss could always trigger that reaction in him. It was probably one of the reasons his initial research on her had been so thorough. She was hot and tough. And he had been both intimidated and turned on by her. He still was, not that he would admit it to anyone.

He was still lecturing himself when the music stopped. Miller's hands left his face and his head turned sharply to his right. She was leaning on the crate looking at him. There did not seem to be a reprimand in her gaze, just a comfortable easiness that made him tense in response to the relaxed nature of it.

"Didn't realize you were down here," she said, dragging the towel she had brought with her down her long neck.

Matt's jaw tensed as he fought for a usable reply. "Figured I'd just sit back and enjoy the music. Who was that, by the way?"

"Kill the Noise."

"Damn. Should've known," he replied with a little shake of his head. _Can't believe I didn't place them_.

Remy nodded her agreement. She looked down for a moment then only her eyes rose to him. "So I didn't interrupt you, then?"

"Nope. I was just fiddling around," Matt replied quickly, gesturing with the device in his hands.

Remy smiled playfully. "Next time I'll look first."

"As long as you bring good music, you can invade my space anytime." Matt screwed his eyes shut and held them closed for a second. _What a stupid thing to say_.

When he opened them again, Remy was walking toward him. Tight little black shorts hugged her hips and the white tank top were the only other things covering her body. The glistening sheen of sweat made her shimmer in the soft lighting of the bay.

"I never figured you to be one for yoga, you know, soothing and calming and all."

The soft laugh shot through him as she sat down. "Well, when the Secret Service stopped letting their guys spar with me. I got a little restless. Ben thought it might help."

Matt gaped at her.

"I'm kidding," she replied. "Kind of. I took it up with Shaundi … after some things." She looked at the towel in her hands for a long time. He knew which things she meant-finding out all her old friends abandoned or set her up; then there was Carlos and Aisha. "Turns out it was useful for more than just keeping me from shooting everyone in sight."

"Really?" he asked with a trace of skepticism in his voice.

"I hadn't shot anyone since the campaign started, which is when I started doing it on a daily basis."

He laughed and so did she.

"What were you up to?" she asked with a tip of her chin toward the device in his hands.

"Just going over some code." It was not a complete lie. That was what he had planned on doing and would have been doing if she had not invaded his thoughts so damn thoroughly.

Remy arched an eyebrow at him. "You spend your down time … working."

"Oh, this isn't work, well, not complete," Matt replied with a conspiratorial grin. "I'm toying with the possibility of changing little parts of the simulation, tweaking them for my own means. Want to see?"

"Sure," she said with a shrug.

The grin widened with her acquiescence. Miller had not expected it, usually when specs and code were involved Remy would ask people to skip to the end. The excitement that coursed through him was evident in the few accidental taps he made at the screen. Closing CID's project, Matt took a deep calming breath and opened his own opus.

She scooted next to him, closer than he expected, then Remy leaned even closer to get a look at the tiny tablet screen. Matt swallowed, hard, hoping she had not heard the nervous gulp he that seemed to echo loudly through his own head. His efforts to calm himself with the explanation of the code rewrite would work until he let even a stray thought about her proximity peek up. Deciding that staring at the screen might lend a minor reprieve, he scrolled through some of his work as he told her how he was essentially he was trying to back-hack Zinyak's system and take over little pieces of it that the Saints could use as training grounds for different tasks, like programming out for trial runs of more sizeable endeavors.

"Just thought we could use the safe areas, places that we control and can manipulate," Matt explained, looking over at her. He swallowed hard again when her eyes met his. She was so close, just there.

"Can't he just take them back?" she asked, eyes moving back to the device in his hands. Her hand brushed his as she turned the screen back toward her slightly.

"Possibly. CID is helping me bury them. He's spent a very long time in this system and knows the code a lot better. Given enough time I could do it myself, but this is a new system. I haven't figured out all its-"

"Quirks?"

"Yeah." He watched her face as her eyes swept over the schematics on the screen in his hands.

"Kinzie mentioned something like that once. It's like getting the feel for a new gun," Remy noted. "No matter whether you agree or not. Guns, cars, computers, and code are all alike in that respect. You need to spend time with them, get a feel for them and how they work, then you know how far you can push them, what you can get out of them. Same thing can apply to people, too," she said, glancing over at him, for a moment.

The decision surprised even him. Matt did not know why he did it. Maybe it was because she was right there. Maybe it was because she kissed him, or because he spied on her. Maybe it was merely her proximity. Maybe it was because everything was gone and there were no longer any real reasons not to. Sure, she was still the leader of the Saints, maybe she was even still kind of the president, though that was more subjective. But in a way, in that moment, she was something he had never really seen her as before. She was just Remy.

The voice coaxed him toward action; it was the same voice that would persuade him to hack bigger and better targets when he was younger. When his lips met the corner of her mouth as she started to turn back to the device in his hands, he felt the same rush he would when he found a way through a particularly grueling firewall or managed sneak past some of the best security in the business. Then, as now, he felt a little delirious as his pulse pounded in his head. As she leaned away from him, persistence and fixation made him follow.

The pressure on his chest was gentle and guiding as she pushed him away. Finally Matt looked up at her, the momentary confidence fading quickly by the indecipherable look on her face. Give him code and he could usually find the meaning and the way through in a glance, but people, especially Remy McGinnis, they might as well be hieroglyphics written in the sand during a windstorm.

"Miller?" she muttered.

Her voice was gentle but he still heard a trace of what he thought was admonition in the way she said his surname. In a way it seemed like an attempt to replace that suddenly lost distance. The young man tore his eyes away from her, scanning the short towers of crates littering the bay rather than watch her shrink away again. He had never been good with rejection, even when he expected it. _How could you be so daft? You complete fucking wally!_ He scolded himself as his mind raced. Then he could not help but wonder why she had not retaliated; he had seen her lay people out for grapping her wrist. With that recollection the soft weight which remained on his chest registered.

A glance downward convinced him it was not in his head. Her hand was still there, her warm fingertips tracing the divot at the base of his throat. His eyes moved up the sculpted landscape of her arm, the skin curving and wrapping around the corded muscle beneath. There were little hints of color, some he knew, well, had seen before, though not all.

Matt swallowed against his own uncertainty; he did not know what to say. Though she was not the first woman to push him away, he was not sure how to respond to the reaction. So in a feint voice he offered a weak apology. "Sorry."

"Why?"

The question was a quiet and laden with as much doubt as he felt, but as curious as he was, as much as he wanted to know; he merely let his eyes trace the parallel lines of varying thickness that moved along barcode tattoo just at the base of the curve of her shoulder.

"I overreacted." He shook his head. That was not quite correct. He had been overwhelmed-by her, by his own thoughts, his desires, but it did not feel like an overreaction until after the fact. "I just … You were … and I …" He sighed and slumped against the sofa, closing his eyes and wishing he could figure out something to say that would not sound ridiculous.

It took him a moment to wrap his head around the fact that she was still there. McGinnis had not reacted like she usually did; she had not walked away or disappeared behind the walls of her own making. She was still sitting beside him; she was still touching him, still close and present. Miller hazarded a glance at her finally, feeling a tiny bit more confident in her proximity. The mischievous smile curving her lips made him anxious and excited him all at once.

A nervous tightness snaked through his chest and along the line her fingertips traced up his jugular. Matt shivered slightly under her touch. He shifted as his body tingled and tautened in response. He wanted her, but he was not sure if or how he should or could admit it, let alone to the boss.

Her fingers slid along his jaw, stopping at his chin encouraging him to finally meet her gaze. Even without her seemingly holding him there, Matt would have been enraptured. The steel blue gaze was piercing, brimming with more truth than she usually allowed past the surface. The confident smirk softened into a tentative smile; it was so human, so fallible, and there was something completely open about her in that moment. Combined with the low and heady tenor of his voice, it made him wonder if he should not have acted sooner.

"Look, Matt. I've been thinking …"

**-2-**

The last guy as bold as Matt Miller spent six months eating through a tube after Remy broke his jaw in two places. It was her typical reaction to unsolicited and unwanted advances. In this case, deep down the boss knew that the hacker's sudden action had been neither of those, even if he was unaware of it. She had made overtures, well, for her they were overtures; for normal people they might just be politeness, but she knew herself well enough to know that her seeking his company was more than just a plea for human companionship.

Perhaps if she had not spent years denying herself precisely this, she might have been able to convincingly lie to herself. Perhaps then she would not have admitted her desire. Perhaps that would have kept her from kissing him again. Once her lips brushed his, she managed to quell the voices in her head. It was the first time in years that she stopped over-thinking in his presence. Now that she had acted; the boss simply continued along that path-acting and reacting to Matt and his cues.

The younger man held tightly to her knee as her leg crossed over his, while his other hand stayed frozen at her waist. His caution prompted her measured reactions. It had taken her years to finally approach this point, the last thing she really wanted to do was spook him; and he seemed too close to that point. As she tugged down the zipper of his flight suit she pulled away watching for any hesitance, any sign of fear or concern, but there was none. Matt pulled the thin tie over his head and watched her intently until her hand stopped and snaked up his chest.

Eager was the only way to describe the way he peeled the suit down and the speed with which is removed his t-shirt. Her light laughter seemed to temper him, and the sheepish look he offered through long lashes suggested a hint of embarrassment as his frenzied reaction. She leaned forward and kissed his shoulder softly, letting her hand ghost across the smooth plane of his chest. As her mouth moved up his neck, she nipped gently, which prompted a little groan that made his head fall back. One hand moved higher up her thigh and tightened with her teasing of his ear. McGinnis complied with the little tug he gave her, though she knew it was highly possible that she had imagined it.

Regardless, she looked down into his electric blues eyes, replying to the lazy smile with one of her own, as she slid onto his lap. Her grin widened slightly as his fingertips lightly grazed the bare flesh at the small of her back. In a smooth moment she evened the score then fitted her lips to his again. Her reaction to his touch seemed to freeze his hands in place again. Matt had been cautious before but from the point her shirt landed noiselessly wherever, his fingers gripped her that much more tightly, like he was hanging on for dear life.

Contradictory to his touch was his kiss. That left no doubt in her mind that he was as charged as she was; that and the faint little growls that seemed to start deep in his chest. He might have been holding onto her like she was an anchor in the storm, but he did not want to go in out of the rain. Hissing lightly as her short nails skimmed his ribs, Matt's lips moved to her chin, along her jaw and down her neck.

"You can touch me," she whispered toward his ear. The hand on her thigh flexed a bit in response, but remained firmly fixed.

Remy chalked it up to nerves, and actively sought a way to calm them, at least a bit, if she could. When she circled her hips against his, Matt's quivering groan seemed to echo off her skin and through her head. Another, and both his hands moved to the junction of her hips as he leaned away. Lips parted slightly, shortening breaths, wide eyes-it made him so enticing. When her lips met his, she plunged her tongue into his mouth. The kiss was claiming and he replied by pulling her hips flush against his. She could not help the trace of a smile that faded into another deep kiss.

Her body shifted, allowing her hand press the zipper down further, and allowing more directed teasing. He pressed his forehead to hers with a sharp intake of breath as Remy guided her hand down his sensitive flesh. By the third stroke, his eyes reopened; the heat there unmistakable.

Atypical, it was the only word that could describe her reaction to look Matt gave her. Both of them were suddenly frenzied and impatient for the next impending step. She scrambled off his laps and shed the last scant bit of clothing, as he kicked off the flight suit entirely.

It was almost too polite-the way he held his hand out to her. Like the night he asked her to dance. Long, dexterous fingers held her courser hands tightly as she moved back toward him. Even more striking, he did not loose her hand, but instead laced her fingers with his as she loomed over him. His other hand rested on her waist, much more loosely than before, as she knelt over him. The slight squeeze and downward pressure caused her to pull away; her eyes searched his.

McGinnis knew only one thing; she wanted him. And it was not a new development. In Prague, Matt made her laugh, he managed to make fourteen hour shifts in a van a lot easier to take. She learned a lot about him in those few days, actually more than she really ever wanted to know. More than she ever would have thought to ask. He just opened up to her, told her about himself, his life-both before Steelport and after.

No one reacted to her like that. No one told the leader of the Saints about reading under their father's desk in his office. People did not tell her about the places they saw their lives going. But Miller had no qualms about offering up that type of information freely. What was more striking was that he never asked her to reciprocate, never tried to force her to talk about the things she preferred not to think about. In a handful of days, Matt endeared himself to her; he had burrowed under her skin and into her thoughts. He tempted her in a way she could remember no one else, nothing else, doing.

There was no trace of doubt in his vibrant blue eyes, just hunger. The same hunger she felt. Remy trailed her fingers down his body. Fluttering eyes and a deep groan punctuated her careful touch. Matt gasped when she guided him into her; his fingertips pressing into the muscles of her back.

His hand between her shoulder blades pulled her closer and Miller buried his face in her the crook of her neck. Remy moved slowly as his breathing quivered in response. She was fairly certain he was not a virgin, though conventional wisdom and good natured ribbing still pegged him as one. Even in that moment she was not entirely sure. His reactions suggested his inexperience, so Remy opted to take great care and consideration with him. Once her hips met his, Miller finally looked up at her.

The beauty in his angular features, set off by the softness of his lips. He refused to release her hand, so she allowed it. Her machinations were precise and measured as she waited for him to respond. It had taken some time for his hands to move more freely, for him to let his lips roam her newly glistening skin, and she guessed it was merely a matter of time before all of him responded to her in kind.

Counter he did, when she took to teasing him a little on the relentless side. His sharp response, made more so by that exploring hand pressing her hips into his upward thrust brought a gasp to her lips and a satisfied smirk to his. Nails skimming over his shoulder, down his chest, her unclasped hand moved down his body toward hers as their found rhythm intensified. His free hand drew her mouth to his; cradling the back of her head, his fingers laced in the long blonde hair freed from a tight little tie. He growled lightly when she trapped his bottom lip in her teeth, a soft bite giving way to more pliant lips as she sucked at the prize a moment. Matt kissed her hard, holding her mouth to his as he moaned softly.

It was one of those subtle signs, combined with the tight grip he had on her hand and the way he held her close, she was sure he was close. With him inside her, and her fingers teasing her clit, she planned to accompany or at least quickly follow him over that shuddering precipice. The separation was minute, his forehead pressed to hers. Those bright blues eyes, with pupils blown wide, locked on hers, and she felt him taking her with him as he swelled inside her. Remy's sharp wordless sighs mixed with Matt's incoherent groan.

**-3-**

Struck by the surprise of it all, Matt stared up at her. He could still feel the tremors in her body as she remained close. The little quiver her abdomen made against his chest made him smile. And when he finally let go of her hand, she ran her fingers through his hair; her eyes not leaving his until they closed as her full lips brushed his. His hands skimmed her back, over her shoulders, then down past her waist, following the slope of her hips.

"Remy," he whispered when their mouths parted again. Something in the back of his head told him he should say something, but he had no idea what he could or should say. Her eyes searched his as she waited. Then she smiled and relieved him of the burden. The peck was soft, more distant than the other kisses they had shared, but it stopped his search for words.

The sudden absence of her warmth, of the weight of her body against his was stark and wholly undesired as he shivered against the change. Two steps, that was all the distance between them but it seemed like a gulf. With the spacesuit she discarded earlier in her hand, she stood just out of reach and Miller merely stared at her as she slipped it on. He did not realize until that moment, as he tried to memorize the landscape of colorful tattoos and pinkish-silver reminders of who she was, that he had not looked at her body once the opportunity presented itself. Without a word she zipped the suit up and grabbed her other clothes from where they had landed.

Then the boss returned, like a comet, looming over him with her full hand on the back of the sofa. And, like something caught in her gravitational pull, Matt leaned forward. His head tilted into her gentle touch, like a kitten, craving the caress. Remy's fingertips swept across his bottom lip as she held his gaze. He was not sure what he saw in her eyes, but it was like so many things about Remy McGinnis-nerve wracking and enticing at the same time. Her velvety lips brushed his in a supple kiss. The gentle sweep of her hand travelled down his cheek and along his jaw before she turned and walked out of the bay.

His mind was a jumbled mix of desire and bewilderment, but Miller retained enough presence of mind to stand and pull his own jumpsuit back on. A whimsical smiled played on his lips as he threaded his loosely tied tie between his nimble fingers. He had thought about being with Remy more than once over the years. Wondered what she would feel like in his arms, and if she would be completely dominating and intimidating. But the reality was unlike any of the scenarios he had imagined.

With a shake of his head he knew one major difference between fantasy and reality was his own relative inactivity. Her attentions staggered him over and over; as a result it took him longer and longer to catch up to her. Untwisting his hand from the fabric of the tie, he rubbed his hand over his chest as he stretched along the length of the sofa. Feeling the smile on his face, Matt felt a bit daffy then realized it was merely giddy astonishment. Astounded that Remy considered him in that way, the logician in him attempted to clothe what happened between them in some rationally quantifiable definition. There had been practically no words. It had been all action and reaction; each of them acting upon and responding to one another.

Remy McGinnis, even though he had tried to kill her three times, even though she had every reason to kill him in Steelport, and even despite his rather dazed reactions there in the bay. She still looked at him like … well, he did not know quite how to read the way the boss had looked at him before she left. The romantic in him wanted that look to hold promise, interest, desire-all of the things he was feeling. Matt leaned his head back, a wide grin painting his features as he tried to puzzle it out. He thought she seemed content; felt it was warmth he saw in those midnight-rimmed pale blue eyes. Or maybe it was merely what he hoped he saw.

Letting his fingertips linger on his bottom lip, he let the memory of it wash over him again. The recollection of the slow pace, the way she watched him-Matthew sighed lightly recalling the feel of her hand in his, the way she had allowed him that anchor through it all. He could not help but ask himself what had kept him from taking that step toward her before now. The boldness of her reaction had his mind racing. _Had she been thinking about him like he did her? How long? Could it have been since Prague? Why didn't she ever say anything? Or do something? Why now? Why wait?_

Just as he began to allow himself to bask in the possibility of it, another thought struck him like a truck at rush hour. He was the only man on the ship she had not worked with for years. He was not someone she considered a friend, or so Matt thought. When the idea bloomed, he sat up again, leaning forward, cradling his forehead in his hands as his subconscious began the torture.

The light of the encounter changed as it moved through his head again. He recalled the way she had tried to distance herself from him. The way Remy tried to convince him to move his hands became a suggestion that he was not adequately reacting to her. The little pull as he had laced his fingers with hers became suggestive of her attempt to pull away. Matt pressed his open hand over his mouth. The boss had camouflaged the movement of her hand, but she had been in complete control of the entire thing. She had read him. Somehow, she had even seemed certain that she would have to secure her own orgasm.

Resting his forehead in his upturned palms, Miller shook his head lightly. The shadows of self-doubt seeped across his mind turning the entire event bittersweet. She knew full well he spent most of his time in the bay. _From her first steps, it had all been contrived._ _And you played your part perfectly, Miller. Watched her flawless performance, like a rapt child-thrilled and captivated by your own jejunity. _

In irritated frustration, his foot kicked back against the frame of the sofa. The sting and resulting dull throb pulsed through him as the accusation echoed through his head lowly at first. Then gaining more prominence, the voice repeated the same taunts, like an MP3 player on repeat.

_She isn't interested at all. You're just the only guy on the ship she doesn't have a professional relationship with. And here you are acting like some cunt-struck dunce, thinking a woman like her could actually be interested in you. Thinking she could possibly care. Wishing it there was something more to that kiss, something meaningful in her gaze. Fat chance, Matt. You are not her type. You're just some scrawny tyke in the right place at the right time. A convenient prick, in every sense of the word. Wazzack!_

The voice pounded at him longer than he should have allowed it; lost in the tainting of his own foolish hope. Allowing the reality he was rewriting to sour his moment of bliss. When he finally crawled out of his cave in the cargo bay, his scowl was clear and etched deep in his usually smooth features. He ducked into the tiny kitchen and filled the kettle as quietly as he could manage.

The water was boiling too slow for his tastes. He had no plans or desire to see anyone, but as the saying goes-the plans of mice and men. His partner reached past him and grabbed a second mug and set it down near his. Asha leaned her hip against the counter and looked at him, despite the fact he tried to blank his face, she must have still seen something in his expression.

"All right, Matt?" Asha asked, leaning toward him and studying her partner's face. There was a chipper note to her voice that grated against his raw nerves.

"I'm fine," he bit back. His hands curled around the counter as he heard the churlish twinge in his voice. If she had not been certain before, he knew his reaction would have cemented his upset.

Asha studied him for quite some time. "Sure."

When she placed a hand on his shoulder, his eyes darted to her defensively for a moment then turned back to the counter. He shook his head. _It's not her fault. Asha's not to blame. It's your own damn fault._

"Because that's how fine looks," his partner replied with a sympathetic softness he was not prepared for.

"Asha, please." The look in his eyes suggested she should back off. She pursed her lips and patted his back lightly.

"Hey Asha," Kinzie's voice interrupted as she called over the intercom. "Boss wants to know if you're feeling up to an assault. She says she could use a sniper."

"Sure thing," the MI-6 agent replied. She looked at Miller and squeezed his shoulder. "You're sure you're okay?"

"Yes," he replied with a little less sharpness in his tone. _Just feeling like a fool._ He stared down into the empty mug, trying to ignore the voice, trying to put it all out of his head.


	8. Redress

**Summary: **The boss learns about Matt's adverse reaction and decides to find out what went wrong. His behavior suggests that, yet again, Remy's botched things up. She attempts to remedy the situation just before rescuing Benjamin King.

**a/n:** TY Chy! Look it's a tiny poem of appreciation.

**Free to be**

**08 Redress**

**-1-**

The upbeat snap of the snare drum was reinforced by the almost playful riffs on the guitar. Upon entering the simulation Ahsa ignored the boss' current music choice as she checked the hub to find the other woman's precise location. She did not know Steelport all that well, though she had studying a map Matt had generated for her. The blues that pulsed all around her was something that the spy could ignore, and she would not mention it. Pierce was the only person that seemed stupid enough to give the boss a hard time about her musical choices. Over the handful of days she had been on the ship, Odekar had noticed that Remy rarely listened to the same type of music when she worked; every time Asha had been in the simulation the president was playing something different. The variance suggested an eclectic taste that the spy would not have attributed to the lithe blonde.

The senior MI-6 agent was becoming more used to the nature of their situation. The simulation was a construction, as were the people, including the young man she unceremoniously yanked off the back of a motorcycle. He yelled at her, threatening her with retaliation she assumed, but Asha could not hear him over the whine of the engine as she headed out of the park.

McGinnis was on the northwestern island dealing with a rogue program. Asha assumed it was likely in the area of the patrol she had requested assistance with. The spy tried not to worry about Matt but it was always a feat easier suggested than actually accomplished. After seven years of working together, she felt a strong connection to the kid. She could not help still thinking of him as such, because even despite his field experience he occasionally still made rookie mistakes. But he was one of, if not the best field specialists in the service.

Her mind stalled on that thought. She could feel her brow knit in consternation. _Now, for sure, he's the best_, she thought trying to laugh away the sudden tightness creeping around her chest like a vice. It only took a few handfuls of seconds for the seasoned operative to lockdown the moment of emotion. _Detached. Focused. Ready to work._

"Kinzie, where the fuck is Asha?" the boss grumbled.

"ETA, three minutes," the spy replied. It was easier to reply directly than participate in the silly back and forth.

"Good to know, since I'm being pinned down by an army of sex dolls. Anyone want to explain what the fuck is going on with these targets?"

Kinzie's voice echoed through the alley Asha sped down in hopes it would turn out to be a short cut. "Not much to explain really. It just chooses random people or objects from your memory and sets them loose to give you problems. Guess you really hated that trip into the Decker UseNet," Kinzie added as an aside.

"Gee, ya think?" Remy replied sharply.

There was silence for a short time. Asha concentrated on the route.

"So, you're saying this thing could dig up anyone from our pasts, or just mine, or what?" the boss finally asked again. There was a new calm to her voice that suggested to Asha that the issue had been dealt with, or that it was at least under control.

"From yours certainly. Not sure about the other option."

"Don't worry. The first one is more than bad enough."

Asha knew the boss was right. From the little she had learned about the president, her past was filled with characters that most people would not want to meet once. Of course that was one of the things Odekar knew they shared, an unusual past brimming with colorful characters no one would want to meet again. The possibility that everyone's memories could come back to literally seek revenge from beyond the grave was a bit trying to contemplate.

When she turned onto the street, the agent saw Remy tucked behind a car reloading a shotgun while several inflatable sex dolls ran about on fire. The rules of physics were virtually null and void here and strangely none of them were melting. The boss did not notice the spy's arrival, or so Asha assumed when the woman hopped onto the hood, froze several of the targets, and started firing off shells.

A little grin curled the corners of Asha's lips. "Certainly is an efficient method," she observed before joining the blonde who seemed rather focused on her task.

Odekar did not take the extra second to drop the kickstand on the bike. She just let it fall where it stopped. The sound of her SMG, drew the attention of the boss and her shotgun, but the tension in McGinnis' brow faded quickly with recognition.

"The target is in the middle of all this. Giving birth to itself. Then there's those goddamn portals," the shorter woman growled as she explained the situation. "You feel up for being a decoy?"

"Wouldn't be the first time."

"I'm sure."

It happened more quickly than Asha expected. She had almost forgotten how efficient McGinnis could be in combat situations. She knew her weapons and chose the right ones for each task; and her tactics, though on the reckless side, were quite successful. There was not a whole lot of time for observation once Odekar sprayed the writhing mass of squeaking sex dolls with a wide triangle of death. At that point, her attention was fairly fixed. But once Remy finished off the target, the boss helped the operative dispatch the others in devastating fashion.

"You really do find some of the most curious fights," Asha offered, checking her clip. The two approached the sidewalk as the targets began digitally disintegrating after a handful of moments. It really was a little strange to see. The street showed no signs of the massive slaughter that had just occurred. People were milling past them once again, totally oblivious. That was still a little jarring.

The boss shrugged one shoulder, tilting her head slightly with the motion. "Well, you know me. I like to keep things interesting."

The two shared a quick laugh before Remy commandeered a vehicle for the pair of them, rather than bailing on Asha at a pace the Brit would not be able to match. It was one of those caveats she had found the boss made for her associates who, as yet, had not been able to find a way to adjust their coding, though Matt and Kinzie were actively seeking a solution to that discrepancy. Given the unexpected amount of ammunition that was used, the pair managed to agree on a quick stop to replenish ammo before tackling the Zin patrols the boss had her eye on.

Asha was fine in combat. It was when the gunfire ended that the other parts of her brain started back up. Her fingers absently drummed on the side of the door where her arm rested, while she chewed at the inside of her cheek. Matt usually let things slide easily. Besides that Asha had nearly gotten him to the point that he was a master at keeping things under wraps. She could not decide what could have him upset enough to let it break the surface.

When the music stopped, the spy turned her head and found McGinnis leaning on the steering wheel and staring at her. "You good?"

"Yeah. Of course."

The little raise of the eyebrows, suggested the gang leader did not buy it, but then that was another thing she had learned about the woman recently. She would not push. Asha wondered if it was something akin to professional courtesy. _I won't ask you about your issues, so you can't inquire about mine._ It was a sentiment Asha could relate to.

Uncertain quite how long they had been sitting outside the Friendly Fire, Asha shook her head in an attempt to clear it. She wondered just how distracted she had been by all this. But she could not really question Matt's mood that much. The earth had been destroyed and there were only a handful of conscious humans remaining. Her partner was a little more soft-hearted than he usually let on. She had found that he could take an immense amount of punishment and slough it off, to a point. But too often in the end it always seemed to hit him, and then he was usually hardest on himself even if there was no cause to be.

Add to his nature, the fact that this situation was so far beyond anything his field experience or training could ever prepare him for, and his earlier response set Odekar on edge. The first few days she had been on the ship, he seemed to be handling things all right. At that moment she knew she would have to try and weasel the reason for his stark change out of him.

**-2-**

The session in the simulation wound up being a bit of a marathon. Remy planned on a four-hour stint, but her own distraction made everything take longer. The request to have Asha join her was because they had located a few patrols that were rather dug in. Which meant Remy would need more than a shotgun and a smile. While the pair secured the position and dealt with the security response, Odekar mentioned her run in with Matt, who looked at bit "narked" as the spy put it. After explaining that she meant the hacker seemed to be in a bad mood, the boss' mind started to deviate from her task. There were always more Zin to run down, so the petite blonde tried to put the other woman's concerns out of her mind. Even so, Remy could not keep her thoughts entirely focused on the matter at hand.

To the boss, Matt had seemed normally post-coital when she left the bay-a lazy grin paired with that sweet soft look in his eyes that made her want to keep kissing him. But if what Asha said was true, McGinnis knew she must have misconstrued the situation. The worry that had prompted her to push him away initially sprang up again. Had she been so wrapped up in what she wanted that she pushed him? Had she taken advantage?

According to Odekar, he seemed upset before she joined the boss in the sim, scowling and responding to his partner's inquiries with sharp clipped responses. Short replies were not Matt's usual MO in almost any conversation. And Asha had known him much longer than Remy, so the boss trusted the other woman's read on the young man more than her own.

It was then that the blonde resolved to check on him when her work inside the simulation was complete. It was her way of compromising with herself in hopes that her focus would return; it was marginally successful. She told herself she would make an attempt to feel out the hacker's reaction to their encounter. Not knowing quite how to define what had happened in the bay that was the term Remy used as she tried to classify it. As time dragged on, after Asha's revelation, she felt more and more like the big bad wolf who had preyed on little blue riding hood in the woods.

After Asha darted off to do a little recon, Remy headed for the nearest door as she tried to recall if she had done anything intimidating, anything that might have made him feel coerced. Remy tugged the elastic out of her hair and ran her fingers along her scalp. As she walked, actually walked, toward the nearest door, she replayed the things that led up to him kissing her, and after. But nothing. There was nothing that she could pinpoint that suggested she misjudged him, though she clearly must have.

The boss rather hoped Asha's plans to hang about in the sim for a bit and run a little reconnaissance meant that Remy might wind up with a few minutes to find out precisely what had Matt on edge. This type of reaction was precisely one of the things she had been afraid would happen with Miller. It was one of the myriad of reasons she had avoided approaching him before the Earth had been destroyed. But Matt Miller had changed a lot since their confrontation in Steelport. And since the attack. They all had.

Kinzie looked up at her and stretched, trying to cover a large yawn, as Remy stepped out of the machine. The boss merely offered her friend a cursory nod before she walked out of the room and down the stairs. Remy took her time. Though her intentions were clear in her own head, she did not rush toward this task. She did not pry into people's heads or lives, because she preferred to avoid anyone returning the favor. So, gradually, she made her way to the back of the ship. Her target was leaning over the monitor he had setup in the cargo bay when she entered.

Just in case Asha's assessment was dead on, Remy stopped just inside the door and knocked on the bulkhead lightly. The scowl Matt turned on her seemed to back up the other agent's assessment of the situation; then his face softened with recognition of who had invaded his space. The reprieve from the frown was only momentary; it returned quickly, like a shield he was putting up. McGinnis knew it on sight, because she was a master at that tactic, but her shields of choice were a cocksure attitude and an icily cold shoulder.

There was one certainty. His reaction suggested that she had indeed managed to royally fuck things up. _Again_, she thought, crossing the space and plopping down on the sofa. Miller was doing a damned fine job of ignoring her, at least until she picked up his handheld and inspected it for a moment before he snatched it out of her hands and laid it on the station in front of him. In a way the response was not unexpected, Matt had always been protective of his tech. So the reaction was not particularly telling.

Remy crossed her arms in her lap and studied him for a few minutes. His eyes darted about nervously, though their track was limited to the handful of objects in front of him: console, handheld, input devices, and his own hands. There was no rhythm to the movement, it looked random, but he was attempting to appear thoroughly engrossed. She was not fooled because he had not typed one keystroke since she walked in. His hands merely lay lightly on the keyboard.

"Asha's concerned," she stated calmly, not able to admit her own consideration for the hacker, especially given his current behavior toward her. She was nearly positive that type of revelation might just make things worse.

"She doesn't need to be."

"She doesn't?" Remy replied, leaning back and lacing her fingers behind her head as she stretched her legs and crossed her ankles. "From where I'm sitting, her worry seems quite valid."

He let out a long breath as he focused on whatever he was not doing.

After a long few moments of silence Remy opted to try to go for a different approach. If he was indeed troubled over what happened, she thought nonchalant might be the best avenue to make things seem less weighty. "Matt, if I did something that made you-"

"Look!" he all but yelled. Remy straightened a little at the emotion etched in his face. He took another breath and his voice was a little calmer when he spoke up again. "It's fine. I get it. I'm the only safe one on the ship. It was daft of me to think-"

"Wait! What?" she interrupted, leaning forward and holding her hand up at him. "You think you're a safe choice?" Her laughter was hard to hold back, but it made him look at her at least. She ran her hand over her forehead. "Jesus, Matt. You are the most incautious choice on board. Even Kinzie is safer, and she'd probably put me in traction."

Electric blue eyes moved from her to the screen and back again, seemingly apprehensive about looking at her for too long. The silence stretched uncomfortably as he considered her statement decrying her recklessness. Remy's mind raced with all the things she thought he might want to hear, maybe he needed to hear some of them, but she could not convince herself to voice them. Deep down she also knew why she could not do so.

It was as simple as a single word-fear. The people she admitted to caring about always died. The people she wanted or needed the most in her life were the ones she lost. First her mother, followed by her father and brother. And when she was left with only one person that she felt knew her, one person she needed, one person she could always go to without concern, even he was taken from her.

After her brother died, she kept everyone at arm's length. Johnny was different, she had known him since before her mother died. He was the keeper of the key to her skeleton closet. He was the last person she trusted completely, the last person she let into her dark little twisted world. After the plane, Remy locked up tight. There had only been one time since her best friend's death that she felt the temptation to get near someone again, and that had been in Prague.

Her fingertips were still pressing at the worried creases of her forehead when the silence broke again.

"Then why?" he asked, giving voice to a question she did not know if she had the complete answer to. "Why me?"

It was a question she had tried to answer many times over the past few years, but she could not pinpoint a reason or even a group of them. In too many ways he seemed like the worst choice. The attempts on her life, the fact that he had been sixteen when she met him-that one still hung her up a little, even though the attraction had not come until much later. He was twenty-one when they worked together in the Czech Republic, when she kissed him. The first time, she let him trip her up.

It was easy to hide her personal fears behind other reasons. He had been part of the Syndicate. He had gone after her and her people. Then there the political ramifications that she hid behind to try to keep some additional distance between them. More than any of these it was dread that came with the thought of losing someone else important to her that kept her at bay all this time. If he was just another MI-6 agent, just some hacker, then it was fine. _He'd be fine_.

In the end, her attempts to keep her feelings in check had been all for naught. Somehow, the tall, lanky keyboard jockey had managed to fascinate her in a way she could not recall anyone doing. Matt Miller haunted her thoughts. No matter how she tried, Remy could not forget that dance to Bach's _Air On the G String_ or that foolish decision to kiss him. She even stopped watching _Nyte Blayde_ with Pierce because it reminded her of their conversations during those overlong nights in that cursed surveillance van, when he would tell her about the show, his ideas, his theories. Perhaps Matt was a better spy than anyone gave him credit for, he had managed to sneak past Remy's barriers. Or maybe that was a tribute to his skills as a hacker; she did not know which would be most fitting.

Remy stood and closed the little bit of distance between them. Her fingertips skated along the edge of the monitor for a moment. His eyes met hers, and she decided to do something the boss did not do. So many things in her life were lies, partial truths, carefully-designed constructions meant to perpetuate the myth that fit the leader of the Saints. But there in that moment, McGinnis let the façade drop, even if only for a moment.

"Because it's what I wanted," the woman said; her voice soft, giving him as honest an answer as she could muster.

The question raised by her response knitted his brow.

A part of her wanted to answer the unspoken query. A part of her wanted to tell him, flat out, that she wanted him, and had for some time. But even she could not climb over the walls she built up over the years. The best she could do in that moment was telegraph out a sliver of the truth. The lack of certainty in his gaze and the way he could not look at her for more than a few seconds at a time, suggested she may have indeed overstepped the bounds of propriety, and that her attempt to reach out was too little too late. So, she bit the bullet.

Her first two fingers tapped a few times against the cool metal of the stand Matt had turned into a remote workstation, while she chewed at the inside of her cheek trying to decide quite the correct way to word the escape route she was giving both of them. Strangely, it did not feel like an escape for her, and she knew why. With a slow deep breath, she stomped everything back down-the shrill taunting voice in her head, the emptiness that was so familiar to her. Remy ignored it all and tried not to read him as his eyes darted back to her.

"But you don't have to worry about it, Matt. I'll back off." Remy said in a voice she hoped sounded calm and even. Though she felt anything but when she turned and started toward the door.

Her hand was on the control panel of the door when his sudden response came. His voice was quiet, overly timid. Combined with the speed with which he spoke and the wariness of the tone, the question felt like a frenzied reaction. "What if I don't want that?"

Remy balled her fists, wishing to hell he had not said it. It was so much easier to chalk this up to a mistake that she could just sweep under a rock. That question held more pain than promise for the boss. Because while it was frightening to take that step away from the one she had denied herself for so long and it was painful to think that she had screwed it up so easily, before it even had a chance to be a thing. She knew it would be worse to drag it out. Ripping off a band aid was easier if it was done fast. The pain was sharp and blinding but over in an instant.

That question was akin to easing the tape off the skin, slow, torturous-a lingering pain comprised of both the sharp and searing hurt as well as a dull ache that would to intensify it all. Remy preferred her pain quick, but she was only rarely that lucky.

Her eyes rose to the juncture of the walkway above her and the bulkhead. McGinnis could not decide why he wanted to do this to either of them. _Maybe he does not realize_, she thought. With a glance over her shoulder at him, the boss was fairly certain the he was wholly unaware of any investment on her part. What made it worse was that she knew she could not correct it, not now. Matt hunched over his console and stared at the screen for quite a while before meeting her gaze.

_Yeah, he has no clue. Probably better that way. _The two of them did not look away from one another for a long time, each trying to get a solid read on the other. From what she could see, he was nervous and nowhere near as sure as he had been nine hours ago when he kissed her, or when the subtle tug at her leg encouraged her to go farther than she should have allowed.

Whether he knew what he wanted or not, Remy decided that she was sure. She had known before he kissed her. Despite her own certainty, the boss was not one to push people into situations like this, so she merely offered him a handhold that he could take if he decided he wanted it.

"If it's what you want, the all you have to do is say so," Remy responded finally.

His vibrant eyes were on her again. The disbelief made her shiver. Then he stared at the small workstation he was holding onto tightly.

"I … I don't think I want you to back off," he said after a few moments.

_Goddamnit Matt. _Lingering hope or lingering doubt, neither were something Remy really wanted to deal with any more of. She had already pushed herself through that once with her own foolish reaction to Shaundi's plane. The idea of having this looming over her too was crushing.

Remy set her hand on the panel by the door. "Let me know when you're sure," the boss said before she walked out of the bay.

She did not know what more she could do, or what more she should do. This was outside of her comfort zone. Even if she had not really thought about what _this_ was or could be.

Basically since shortly after her canonization Remy had very nearly sworn off relationships. After the last guy she dated, with anything akin to regularity, tried to _save_ her from the life she had chosen, she pretty much wrote off all relationships. She had enough on her plate without having to deal with someone that could not deal with the insanity of who she was. With that thought she could not help but wonder why she left the opening when she could have saved Matt and herself the wasted time and effort. Her world was no place anyone should be subjected to.

Remy was the boss, it was just the way things were. And the way her life had played out, all the people she lost, she did not put a lot of stock in connection. Though, at that moment, she was being haunted by an overwhelming desire for just that. With everything destroyed, with everyone gone, there was a growing part of her that did not want to just continue on in the same removed existence.

As she leaned against the doorway of what she could only term the play room, McGinnis crossed her arms and watched Pierce and Shaundi giggle and howl over a card game. If she had to guess she would have thought it was Battle. Remy tried not to react when she heard Asha call out to the young man the boss had just abandoned in the cargo bay. But there was a part of her that needed to know more than she needed to keep up a stoic appearance. The glance over her shoulder turned her full circle following Asha's progress across the deck toward the hacker standing in the open doorway of the bay.

"Boss!" Kinzie's voice froze everyone. "The cipher's ready."

Clinching her jaw, Remy turned away again and trotted up the stairs. It was yet another reason, she thought, that he should rethink her offer. She could still fail.

**-3-**

The simulation room had only been this full, relatively, the first few times Remy went into the prisons. Miller was always there, though, tracking readings and outputs, running data from the other simulations to compare against Remy's. Keith loomed when she went into the device. Shaundi hovered from time to time, usually once Remy located the target. When things looked fine, she would leave again. But everyone was gathered this time around.

Kinzie could not help but wonder if anyone else was as fascinated about this retrieval as she was. She had done a fair amount of research into the Saints after joining and she knew that the boss, before they were the boss, had gone up against King and his gang in the area she grew up in. There were a lot of things about this period and about all of her time in Stilwater that Remy did not discuss. It was among a plethora of things she would not talk about-well with Remy _things_ took on a larger connotation. Pretty much anything to do with Stilwater was one such _thing_-it did not matter if it was family, the city, the Saints, her life-Stilwater was off limits. As was the Syndicate bank job.

The press secretary understood it; mainly because she had snooped in depth after the first time she asked about the boss about how she got involved with the Saints. Kinzie had asked a few too many questions, even after the boss' comparatively polite declinations. Her pushing resulted in a fairly typical McGinnis response. Remy had shown a great deal of patience with Kensington during that first little inquisition. But once someone who respects you lays their gun in their lap and flips off the safety, while staring at you with the sharp eyes that remind you precisely why people stopped tracking her body count, you shut the fuck up and stop asking those types of questions.

Shaundi and Pierce had a little more leeway to talk about things from the past, but even they would not broach topics from before the explosion. Kinzie hazarded a guess that maybe Johnny Gat had been the only one who had the ability to bring up things from that time, but judging from what the agent had scrounged up about him, it was highly unlikely. He seemed more aloof than Remy could be. Someone that had been an efficient enforcer for that many years did not strike her as much of a talker.

When Kinzie kicked off the deck to scoot to the next station, her chair hit Pierce's foot.

"Damn, girl. A little warning," he howled.

"How about you step back so I can do my job?" Kinzie barked. She did not like having this many people in her workspace. Though she could not fault their curiosity, she just wished that Pierce and Shaundi would not hover. _Why can't they be more like Keith and Asha?_ Both of whom were leaning against the wall near the door, chatting quietly as they observed from afar.

"You know Kinzie doesn't like people in her space," Shaundi scolded in a whisper.

"I just wanted to see what was going on. Shit."

"Nothing's going on yet," Matt offered for the peanut gallery. "She should be loading into his simulation any minute."

Kinzie glanced across the circle of consoles at them. Shaundi leaned over Matt, eyes glued to the graphical feed. "Damn, I forgot what that place looked like before Ultor moved in. That's the church. I'd only ever been in there after they renovated it," the Saints lieutenant sighed as her hand moved toward the screen like she wanted to somehow reach out and reclaim some part of the past.

"I think I remember getting shot here once," Remy noted in a wholly absent tone.

Kinzie snorted derisively when the thought entered her head. "That could probably be a really long tour. Is there a place you couldn't describe by those terms, boss?"

"Hey now! I've only been shot like a dozen times."

"Twenty-nine, before she was elected," Pierce corrected nonchalantly. "And that's only since I got canonized."

"And I stopped counting after the attack," Kinzie noted with a little laugh.

"Yeah? Well. Fuck you both," Remy barked.

The three actual Saints chuckled lightly at the boss' go to shut-the-hell-up response. Then Kinzie began the explanation that CID had worked up from his deciphering of the code. From the AI's description Ben King's virtual prison was the most straightforward of all the ones Remy had seen. He was holed up in the church, under siege by his own former gang. Two of his lieutenants-Tanya and Tony were gunning for him.

By Kinzie's estimation the boss should be in and out in five minutes or less. This situation was one with which Remy McGinnis was too intimately familiar. The computer genius guessed the petite gang leader could do this in her sleep. The maniacal cackle that rang through the room only seemed to be further confirmation. With a glance at another console showing the feed, Kinzie stifled a giggle at Remy's big league swing as the bat connected with the sternum of a rather large man in bright yellow.

"Oh, ouch," Pierce crooned with a sharp wince.

Remy held the bat over her head and pulled it straight down. Every man in the room winced as the wooden bat connected with its target.

"Nice shot, boss," Shaundi opined, touching the mic control on the console.

"Thanks, sweetie," the boss replied, the effort clear in the momentary strain in her voice as she hit another man with the patriotic-looking baseball bat.

Within a matter of minutes, Remy was standing in the center of a ring of unconscious yellow-clad thugs. As she walked past one who was still writhing, she ended the pitiful, pained sound with the swift movement of her thick boot.

"Looks like you haven't lost your swing," Pierce noted.

"It's all those trips to the batting cage," Remy chided, taking another swing at nothing. "Kinzie, where's King?"

"I've got his signal somewhere in the church," the redhead replied after consulting the code again.

"Damn. It's been a long time since I've seen that place."

There was something in the boss' voice that Kinzie could not ignore. It was not characteristic of the woman Kensington knew quite well. If she had to guess, it sounded almost pensive.

"It's only been like fifteen years."

"Shit! It feels like forever ago," the boss noted as she crouched next to one of the bodies. After tucking the pistol in the waistband of her jeans, Remy picked up the shotgun then set off toward the Third Street Church.

The squealing tires drew all attention back to the monitors, but their concern was quickly alleviated. And after running off Tanya, Remy quickly located her Chief of Staff. With that, Kinzie slid back over to a coded console and started working on the extract, at least until Remy's reply echoed through her brain.

"Are you ready to leave yet, Ben?" Remy asked.

"Hell, no!"

Kinzie growled as she punched down the mute button, so her diatribe would go unheard by the shorter woman in the simulation. "Goddamnit," she yelled. After a moment of silence her voice was much lower in volume, though Kinzie spoke quite quickly. "This is not the time to screw around. We have King. You don't need to fucking kill Tanya and Tony again. You need to get out of the stupid simulation so that we can get to Ben and get him back on the ship. We have to get a plan together. We have to finish hacking through the Zin network. _This_ is a waste of time."

When Kinzie glanced up from the screen, she noticed everyone in the room was staring at her. "Oh, suck it!" she concluded and returned her attention to the pair in the simulation.

A rocket launcher, one armored vehicle, a gaggle of sunshines, and a hooker with the Hep later, King and Remy were at one another's throats. The boss seemed a little more than taken aback when she realized the entire crew was observing her fucked up trip down a warped memory lane. But the useless detour got McGinnis and King out of the sim, finally.


	9. Boomerang

**Summary: **With the return of Benjamin King to the ship, things change on the Saints' confiscated vessel. Everyone Remy saw taken, the people she knew and worked with for the past several years, were out of the soup.

**A/N:** Again thanks to chyrstis for her usual proofing and thefabulouspretzel for the suggestions on the minimalist summary. Just could not find the best way to summarize this chapter without spoiling. Enjoy!

**Free to Be **

**09 Boomerang**

**-1-**

When the door opened behind him, Benjamin King turned, training the confiscated weapon toward the hallway. The two figures in the doorway were backlit, but he knew they were not aliens merely by their silhouettes. When Remy bounced her shoulder off the console next to him, flashing him a wide grin and wink, Ben was profusely relieved to see her here too. A part of him expected her to be standing there when he got out. Of course, he did not realize he was going to come to naked and nauseous on a platform in some puddle of foul-smelling pink goo, either. When Kinzie talked the two of them down and got him to walk through the door of the convenience store, Ben figured the president would be right there with him on the other side.

"It's about damn time you got here," Ben barked.

"Oh, you're fine. Quit your bitching," Remy replied amusedly as she knelt and fired over the console at the aliens stacked on top of one another in the hallway.

"Where the hell were you?"

"On the ship Kinzie stole."

"Why didn't someone tell me what was going to happen?"

"Doesn't help to know." Remy held down a small button on the weapon and waited for it to stop screeching at her. "I hate these fucking guns. Why couldn't there just be one quality AR-15 lying around somewhere?"

"I'd fight you for it, if we found one," Asha noted from Ben's right.

"You could try," the boss retorted.

"What do you mean it doesn't help?" Ben interrupted, looking from one to the other of them.

Remy pressed her back against the console next to him and looked at him for a long moment. "Told Pierce. He kind of freaked out on me. Refused to leave his platform, idiot nearly got us both killed. So I stopped sharing. Figured it was better to chase you down than risk you getting overrun someplace with no cover."

She gave him a knowing little smile.

"Clear," Asha stated and stood.

The boss was the next on her feet. She dug in a little pack she was carrying and tossed something at him. "You might want to put that on. Unless of course you'd rather the Zin die of laughter."

"Fuck you," Ben bit back.

"Doubtful." The president just chuckled at him. "If you start feeling sick again, let me know."

After a few minutes of scavenging, the trio moved on. Ben was not sure why they were popping open and tossing aside crates, he just wanted to get the hell out of there. He assumed there was a good reason for it, which he discovered about halfway to the platform they were headed toward. When the boss yelled, "Eureka," both women focused on the container and started emptying the contents of smaller boxes into the bags they were carrying.

"What is it?" Ben asked approaching them.

"Medical supplies. We were getting a little low on bandages," Asha noted with a grin at the boss.

"Go to hell," Remy intoned flatly.

"How the hell long was I in that tank?" Ben looked from one to the other.

"Only about a week longer than me," Asha noted.

The boss was shockingly silent on the subject. And King repeated the question adamantly.

"We got you out as soon as we dug your signature out of the Zin network," she answered, leaning on the crate but refusing to meet his gaze.

"How long, Remy?" he snapped, standing across from her.

There was a note of familiar defiance in her eyes when she looked up at him. "A few days shy of two months. Maybe." She straightened and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Maybe?" He could feel the surprise twist his features.

"That's how long since, Kinzie and Keith got me out. I don't know how long I was in the soup," the boss admitted.

"You should probably tell him," Asha suggested.

"Tell me what?" Again his eyes darted between the women.

"Earth is gone," Remy relented, after taking a moment.

Ben stumbled backwards a few steps and crashed against the wall. The petite blonde grabbed his arm and held onto his shoulder.

"You all right there, King?"

"Yes," he replied, shaking his head to the contrary. After a moment he looked over at her. "How?"

"Retaliation."

"For getting us out?"

She was again silent longer than he expected. Remy McGinnis always seemed to have an answer for things, even if it was the wrong answer. This type of careful reply was so unlike her that it unnerved the man who had been chosen as her Chief of Staff after the election. "Something like that. We'll talk about the details when we get to the ship."

"You're sure it's gone?"

"Yep."

"We really should go," Asha announced from the doorway.

It took longer than either woman would have preferred to get Benjamin moving again. Once they got him back to the ship, Ben dragged Remy into the only private space they had so far uncovered on the ship-CID's little hideaway. He was entirely uncertain if he wanted to know any of this. In fact, the more he heard the more sure he was he would have preferred not to know. But at least once he wrapped his head around it they could make a plan. He scrubbed his hands over his scalp trying to calm the pounding pulse in his head. Remy looked about as haggard as he felt; King could tell this was still affecting her as much as it was affecting him in that moment.

_How the hell had this happened? How the hell were we going to get out of this?_

-2-

Matt opted to avoid temptation. Once Kinzie found them a hiding place that would work for a stint, she joined the rest of the crew in the back of the ship. When the door swished closed the young man spun his chair around once again. The debris field was gone. _Or more to the point, the fleet has moved on._ _It really is all gone. We are who-knows-where now_, he told himself as he gazed out the massive windows at the sight that still haunted him more than he liked to admit_._

Unable to resist the urge, Matt stood and scooted past the consoles. He pressed his hands on the cool glass and leaned forward, looking for anything he remembered from all the space documentaries he watched as a kid. No matter how far he leaned, all he could see besides the Zin fleet was stars and the thick blackness.

His eyes skimmed the steady points of light. It was so odd to not see them twinkle. He knew, at least in theory, it was a trick of Earth's atmosphere, that in space stars did not twinkle, but those solid beacons of the night seemed so foreign. And his attempt to link them together into familiar shapes and constellations was all but futile.

There was no way of knowing quite where they were, or how far they were from what had been home, even if it was only now a band of rubble. He sat on the edge of the glass then leaned against it on his side, looking down at nothing. Index finger gliding across the smooth transparent surface, Matt fabricated shapes in his mind. Connecting points of light just because he could.

The voice echoed softly through his troubled mind. _The most incautious choice_. "How am I the most incautious choice?" he whispered.

He thought about her wording for some time, had been for the last several hours. _Reckless. Heedless. How am I a reckless choice? _ Matt rolled onto his back, his chest tightening with the view above him. The Zin ships were almost beautiful, the red lights were a little grating, but their designs were architecturally striking.

The boss had given him an out, but for the life of him Matt could not bring himself to take it. For three years, he had been looking for a way past his boyish infatuation, while seeking a way into a relationship with her. He rubbed his hands over his face when her voice echoed again. _If it's what I want? Of course, it is. I think._ With that thought he sat up, glancing through the glass beneath him again. _Is it really? Or is it just what's left?_

"What the hell are you talking about?" he asked himself as he hopped off the window and started pacing around the room. Matt fell into another chair and stared at the screen in front of him. There was something calming in the way the symbols danced across the screen. The way the code flowed upwards fragments, phrases, words, commands, pieces of something greater. This. This was a language he understood, a world he could decipher, he thought as his fingertips grazed the display. It was safe, known, comfortable.

Everything with Remy was the exact opposite. She was wild and strange. When he was around her, merely the proximity set his nerves alight. The boss was a challenge, a puzzle. But for Miller most people were riddles. The difference was he wanted to figure her out.

In Prague, he had left the computer to the search of the database for the stranger's face, while he snuck down to the basement and sat at the top of the stairs out of sight as she broke down, cleaned, and reassembled weapons then did it again over and over again. The smell of the gun oil reminding him of the time she had cleaned that pistol in the van when they were on duty. It had been the one time she reciprocated. Matt had always been a bit of a nervous talker, and around her when they were locked in that van together, he had told her more than he ever meant to. And only that one time did McGinnis payback his anxious tongue.

"So, what kind of gun is that?"

There was a disbelieving smirk on her face when he glanced over at her. "You really don't know what it is?"

Matt shook his head.

"Colt M1911."

The way she held the pistol seemed gentle, almost reverent, but given her penchant for firearms, Miller was hardly surprised by the display.

"It's the first gun I ever fired."

"What?" Matt asked. "That one."

She shook her head, hands still moving over the metal and the wooden grip in a delicate manner. "Not this one in particular, but this type of gun. My father's father's sidearm from when he served in the war. I still have it," Remy announced when she looked up at him. "Back home, in Stilwater."

"That's the type of gun you learned to shoot with?"

"Yep." Her terse answer prompted his concern.

"How old were you?"

She stared at the gun for a long time, cradling it in both her hands. Then her eyes met his again. "Too young."

Matt felt his eyebrows arch and his eyes widen. He did not have the chance to make a reply. She turned back toward the monitors on her side of the van about two minutes before the backdoor opened quickly and that same pistol was trained on their relief. Remy hopped out of the van like she was being chased and by the time Matt briefed the other agents there was no chance that he would not be returning to the safe house on his own.

Matt could not help but grin at the code flashing before his face in the bridge of the ship. It had taken him six months to figure out which brand of gun oil she used. He finally found an old American Gunnery Sergeant at a shop in Virginia on a trip state side who knew precisely what Miller meant when he described it as smelling like minty banana petrol. He laughed lightly at himself and leaned back in the chair. He had still had the bottle of Hoppe's No. 9 before all this. The old man had called it the shooter's version of Chanel No.5; and the agent used it from time to time when he cleaned his service pistol.

"Why didn't you ever do anything?"

"I tried," he replied to himself standing quickly.

Once when they were shooting together he had actually asked her out for tea. Remy had offered him that coy little smirk and agreed. But they all got called out. The next time he tried, was at the start of her campaign. A quick email saying he and Asha were going to be in the US for a handful of days, asked her if they could get together. Pierce had answered back. Stating the schedule was too tight. Once she was elected, he still thought about it. But it never went further than a thought-she was the president after all.

"You've wanted this. Wanted her. She's right there, letting you decide. Why are you still even thinking about it?"

And when he looked out the window, Matt knew why. _Because it's gone, everything is gone. And suddenly you don't know which way is up._

-3-

The cockpit was alarmingly empty, but Remy was glad for it. Two hours spent discussing everything that had gone wrong from discounting Kinzie's suggestions that there was an alien threat to Earth to the destruction of the same. The thing that shocked her most was that she was relatively numb to it now, and that was what scared her most-that somehow she could get used to all of it. She leaned against the console and stared out into the darkness.

The boss was a planner but she had never been particularly contemplative, at least outwardly. She preferred to act first, though more times than not, more so of late, that got her in trouble. Especially with Matt. Remy shook her head and stared at the dull backlit buttons and readings on the console. She could not help but think how colossally stupid she had been. Reacting toward him like any typical guy, when she knew damn well there was nothing typical about him, if there was she would have already boarded that train and finished the ride long before the Zin showed up.

Remy did not know why she was interested in him-it was the most apt word she could find. While the lanky MI-6 analyst was cute as hell, with those sweet blue eyes and that whole innocent, naïve vibe going on; Matt Miller was anything but her type. If they had met in a bar she might have noticed him, simply for the neon piping on that old jacket of his and the smurf-colored grin, but she would not have picked him up or taken him home. She always had a taste for large and dumb. They were easy. They did not ask too many questions. They did not look at her as anything more than a conquest-a notch on their belt, which was precisely how she saw most men-_most_.

One thing was certain about Miller, he would ask questions. He was good at digging up information-he did it for the Syndicate, then MI-6, and now he was doing it for her, for the Saints. There was no way that he would not turn that inquiring intellect of his on her. Remy dropped into a chair and planted her chin on her knuckles as she stared out at the unending night.

"Why did you leave it open? You should have just closed the door."

Questions and giving answers were never her forte. She could get answers out of just about anyone, but there was a basis for why Pierce did most of the interviews for the Saints. There were reasons why reporters had to clear questions through Kinzie and Washington when Remy did allow interviews. The boss did not like answering questions, even when she knew them in advance, even when she approved of the ones to be asked. She did not like people knowing her or what she saw as her business. If asked, she would have said it was because she did not like being close to people. To be fair, that was not quite the whole truth of it. She liked having friends, enjoyed having people around, but she had her reasons for being distant, even with the people she felt closest to.

Loss. Betrayal. Lies. All relationships boiled down to pain for her. It hurt to let people in, when she got right down to it. And Remy McGinnis had known a lot of pain over the years. She had known Dex for ten years and he still sold her out, set his goon squad on her. She respected Julius and his goals; then he tried to kill her and set her up as the scapegoat for the explosion. And she had trusted Troy Bradshaw, put her life in his hands more times than she could count, and he lied to her at every turn. The only thing about him that had not seemed to be a lie was his name.

With a heavy sigh she leaned back in the chair and tried to clear her mind. Even so, Matt popped back into her head. First, that nervous, almost afraid, face after that askew little kiss then that sweet hazy gaze after; but it all paled in comparison to the cold hurt look he wore when she went to talk to him. That still haunted her. But then there was that handful of seconds on the lower deck. She did not know if he had been coming out of the cargo bay or maybe that was wishful thinking on her part. There was no way to know.

_Unless you ask_, a shrill voice in her head noted. Her jaw tightened. Out of courtesy for her own skeletons, McGinnis did not pry. Or at least that was how she justified not asking people about their lives. What she knew about her friends, she knew from experience or from their own ramblings. Remy McGinnis did not ask, because she did not want to be asked in return.

Her eyes focused back on the stars in the darkness. The pinpricks of light in the black reminded her of the hunting trips her father would take her and her brother on, though out here they seemed a lot brighter. In the woods it had been like she could see every star in the sky, now she actually could. She learned to shoot under skies like these. They would camp out under the stars during most of the year; the cabin was used only in the winter and inclement weather. Liam McGinnis was a survivor; he taught Remy and Percy to survive to. They were both marksmen. They could navigate just about any terrain.

One thing Liam had made sure of was that his girl survived. And it was something she was good at. She outlived them all-mother, father, brother. She was the only McGinnis left. Her and six other people-they were all that was left.

"How the hell did I get here?" she asked the darkness.

The light shone brightly across the room as the hatch opened. It did not really matter who it was.

"Out!"

"Boss."

"Did I stutter?" Remy asked, barely glancing over her shoulder at Shaundi.

"I'm not here on a social call." Shaundi did not move, but she stayed silent for a moment. "We're going to need to make a supply run soon."

"What do we need?" Remy relented, letting her shoulders slump slightly.

The brunette crossed the room and dropped the clipboard on the console. Remy picked it up and tapped on the overheads. Her fingertip traced down the listing of the inventory. The boss pressed her fingers to her forehead as she reread the list again.

"Tell Asha and Pierce to get prepped. The four of us are going shopping," Remy replied, handing the clipboard back to Shaundi. "I'll find us a possible target. You know they are going to be gunning for us, right?"

Remy did not wait for an answer; the boss did not need one or want one. And both women knew it. McGinnis just walked out of the bridge and down the stairs, rounding the banister to locate Kinzie in order to plan an assault on the Zin fleet.

-4-

"Get the supplies on the ship!" Remy growled when Pierce crouched beside her. As he opened his mouth to argue, the boss eyed him sharply. "I can still shoot. And we need this gear. Help them get it on the fucking bird."

"C'mon Pierce," Shaundi yelled, waving him over.

The three of them loaded crates onto the ship. It was usually a bit of crap shoot. They had not scouted these boxes because of the heavy resistance. Shaundi just hoped that Kinzie and the boss chose well when they picked where they would strike. As the next to last box was being transferred, Pierce groaned sharply and dropped his corner of the crate. Thankfully the container fell back onto the deck and not off the edge.

"Pierce!" the other Saints lieutenant yelled.

"Asha! Help with the boxes," Remy called with a glance at their friend who was pressing his hand to his shoulder.

Shaundi was torn. They all were. But without the hope of rations in these boxes it was all for naught. The two women rushed to get the supplies on the ship then they helped Pierce onto the cargo lift.

"Boss, come on," he shouted.

Remy darted toward the edge of the platform under cover fire from the two women and from Keith and Ben on the deck. After tossing the alien rifle onto the deck, the Chief of Staff pulled the injured woman back on board by her uninjured arm, and helped her away from the closing bay door.

"I'm good," Remy argued when Ben tried to assist her further.

Asha's voice resounded through the ship. "Matt! Two med kits, now!" With that she looked at Keith and Shaundi. "Get him into the kitchen."

"What the hell?" Pierce objected. "I'm not being anybody's gourmet treat. Fuck that."

"She needs a smooth surface that's easy to clean after she treats the shoulder," Remy replied in a calm tone.

"You okay, Boss?" Shaundi asked as they headed out of the bay.

"I'm fine. Just a scratch. Or five."

McGinnis' laugh was gruff and belied her stress. It left the younger woman unconvinced, but Shaundi helped get Pierce into the other room.

-4-

Asha grabbed a kit out of her partner's hands as he ducked around the corner. "Take that one to the president. She's going to need someone to stitch up that gash on her back." The senior agent's attention returned to Pierce as she muttered, "Crazy bitch."

Pierce only groaned and hissed at Asha as she tugged the suit away from the wound in this shoulder. Matt did not think about the orders the senior operative had given him until he entered the cargo bay and found it empty. The muttered curse from above him, made him shift farther into the large open space. The boss was at the top of the stairs, cradling her right arm to her chest.

Again thought drained from his mind as training and instinct took over at the sight of the bloodied back of her suit. Miller darted up the stairs. "Where were you going?" he asked when he reached her. He pulled at the back of her suit and eyed the wounds beneath tears in the thick fabric. He could not see much, but from the amount of blood that had soaked through it looked bad.

"To the bathroom to put my hands on a kit. And see if I needed stitches."

Matt shook the kit at her, knowing full well that she likely heard Asha tell him to fetch them. When he looked down at her face, the tightness in his throat cropped back up and he tried to swallow it down again. He did not know if it was that same avoidance tactic he was becoming too used to, or if she was just being impatient. The second was at least as likely as the first in this instant.

"Come on." Placing his hand at the small of her back, he pressed lightly, encouraging her to resume her retreat.

The young MI-6 agent tried to ignore all the things that jetted through his head, tried to breathe through the tightness in his chest, and disregard the way his nerves seemed to be on edge. He focused on the fact that he had orders with the hopes that would get him through it. He stood back, watching as Remy leaned against the sink to survey the gash on her cheek. He realized almost immediately that a part of him missed it-being around her, touching her. The touch had been cursory, innocent, but it still made his pulse race. He shook his head a moment as he tightened his hands around the handle of the kit he was still carrying. It was a concrete reminder of why he was in that room with her.

Inspecting the blood saturated spacesuit, he took in the myriad scratches on and through the thick fabric of the garment. It looked as if she had gone for hand-to-hand with one of the aliens, and it from the evidence it seemed like he gave as good as he got, at least for a time.

"What, did you give a Zin a hug?" he chided.

Her eyes were sharp. "Kit," she ordered calmly, hand outstretched toward him. Matt relinquished it, though he quickly missed having something to occupy his hands. First he set them on his hips, but that seemed wrong, then he crossed them over his chest, which felt just as awkward, so he left them hang at his sides.

She shrugged the suit off her shoulders and tied the arms around her waist, being careful with her right shoulder, where the scratch marks were the worst. But she had several marks over both arms, and her knuckles were in pretty horrible shape too. The deep gashes on her right shoulder blade were much deeper than he had anticipated from the little cursory glance he had gotten in the bay.

"These are going to need stitches," he advised, stepping closer, and setting his hand on her uninjured shoulder as he made a thorough assessment of the marred flesh while she unzipped the kit.

Remy turned slightly and surveyed the wounds in the mirror for herself. She winced noticeably. "Looks like I get to be a scratching post and a pincushion, all in the same day." Grabbing a few bandages from the bag she ripped them open and eyed the reflection again. "This is going to suck."

Matt grabbed the gauze squares she had placed on the counter. He knew this was at least a two-man job. After dousing the bandages with alcohol, he pressed them to her back. The sharp intake of breath told him, his action had surprised her. And the alcohol, he knew, stung like a bitch. The iodine he would use later would be a little less sharp.

"Open the black kit," he ordered, continuing his stinging assault on the gashes.

"I'm good," she replied.

Matt laughed gruffly. "Well, I'm not. Believe me," he admitted, glancing up into the mirror at her reflection. "You'll want it numbed. I'm no surgeon. Hell I'm not even a seamstress. So, just get me the anesthetic."

"Fine."

Her reply was more of a groan. In a way he did not expect that reaction from a woman with as much experience with injuries as her myriad of scars would suggest. He figured she would have preferred dulling some of the discomfort he was certain he had already caused with the alcohol. From experience, he knew the stitches would be worse.

"So how many stitches have you had already?"

"Lost count."

"Somehow I doubt that. Pierce said you and Johnny used to keep score on things like that."

She did not reply.

"Said there was actually a tracker in the HQ-kills, bar fights, stitches."

"Yeah, well. I'm a sociopath, aren't I? Isn't that the sort of stupid anti-social shit we're supposed to do? Kill indiscriminately and then find it entertaining enough to keep track?"

Matt just listened to the touch of bitterness in her tone as she spoke. It made him thankful for something to occupy his thoughts and attention. While the crew got their fair share of abrasions, a few burns and the like, the amount of injuries requiring this type of attention were rare. So far even most of the gunshots had merely been grazes. As he laid out the tools and supplies necessary to close the deep scratches crossing her shoulder blade, Miller weighed his response before making it.

"Actually that sounds more along the lines of a psychotic than a sociopathic."

"Yeah well, tomato, to-mah-to. I guess."

"Stand up straight and relax a little. I'll try not to bite too hard."

When he noticed the curiously raised eyebrow, he regretted the statement, and silently swiped the ointment over the edges of the wounds hoping it would dull the discomfort enough to keep her from reacting to the stitches. He really did not want to have his own scar as a reminder of this endeavor. About halfway through the longest and deepest of the three, he finally broached the question that was bubbling in his mind-well, one of them. The other one he kept carefully under wraps.

"How did you get these anyway?"

"Thought I'd try that pacifist shit and see if the Zin wanted to hug it out," she said flatly.

With a quick glance he caught the little curve at the corner of her mouth as he laughed lightly.

"Somehow I doubt that."

"Rifles overheated. So Spike and I decided to dance. He fought like a bitch, and broke out the claws," Remy stated plainly, eyes locked on the wall.

"Must have been one hell of a tango."

"Yeah, well. Things were still hot down there. The Zin are beefing up patrols on the platforms. They seem to have finally figured out that is where we are coming in. Or they've started to notice the missing supplies. Maybe both."

She leaned forward on the counter. "Try not to move. I'm trying not to make these look too much like Dr. Frankenstein did your stitches."

Ignoring his request, Remy turned slightly to check his work. "Better than Pierce's," she observed as she straightened again.

"Thanks." He offered her a half smile as he numbed the lower gash before going back to his needlework. "You still didn't say what happened."

"Not much to tell. Gun won't fire. Guy on your face. You do what you have to. Apparently he was at least as crazy as me."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, he thought like me or close to it. Heard his alarm go off right before mine. I was about to jump cover, stood up just as he took a running leap at me. Knocked me to the deck, but I got the better out of him. Eventually."

"Yeah, looks like that eventually was a little bit of problem," Matt replied with a high-pitched snip of the little scissors.

-5-

Remy took a deep breath when Matt laid his palm on her shoulder. Surprised by how warm his hands were, she watched him carefully as he ran his gloved thumb over the last gash. He was a lot better at this than Pierce or Shaundi. Even with injected Lidocaine, Shaundi could make the boss want to scream. Miller was taking his time, making clean precise stitches. His skill made her wonder how much practice he had. The light laugh gave her away.

"What?" the man asked, his eyes meeting hers in the mirror as one hand rested on her shoulder blade while the other waited for an answer before resuming its task.

"Just wondering how often Asha must have gotten shot for you to so proficient."

The smile was soft, barely curving his features as his eyes lowered back to her shoulder. "Nah. When you're sitting around waiting for things to happen you need something to kill time. So I practiced. Wasn't always lucky enough to have someone around who enjoyed really bad jokes, most of the time."

Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at him, if she had not been she would have missed the bare flick of his eyes toward hers. "Like my legendary impasta one?"

This time he did not look up but he did smile slightly. Her throat felt like it was closing up on her, but she had no recourse. She had made her play. She had let her stake be known-and all that was left was to wait for the green flag or lock it back down.

"What do you call a boomerang that doesn't come back?" he asked, eyes and hands intent on their task.

"A stick," Remy answered, breathing shallowly. "How do you catch a squirrel? Climb a tree and act like a nut."

Matt shook his head slightly. This go around was not nearly as relaxed as when they had done this for nearly an hour in that van tucked in an alley in Prague. "A skeleton walks into a bar and says, 'gimme a beer and a mop.'"

Remy bit her bottom lip when he snipped the suture material. He swiped iodine over her back as she wondered if he remembered that stupid game as well as she did. "All right. Why did the chicken cross the basketball court? He heard the ref was blowing fowls."

In Prague, it had prompted him to tell an easy joke that made them both nervous. On the ship, Matt did not take the bait at first. He pressed the tape along the edge of the bandage; his graceful fingers grazing her skin. When she turned and looked up at him, Remy hoped he would see the challenge; she hoped he would take the bait because she felt frozen in a sea of inaction since she left everything up to him.

Matt bit his bottom lip and stared at her. "How are blondes and computers similar?"

"You never appreciate them until they go down on you," Remy replied, delivering his punch line with a nervous smirk. The fact that he remembered as well as she did nothing to calm her anxiety. She tried to figure out something to do with her hands, and after a moment of fidgeting, Matt grabbed her hand, examining her knuckles.

"Can't believe you remember that," he muttered as he dragged an alcohol soaked cloth across the abrasions.

Remy tugged at her hand with the sting but he stubbornly held tight and continued tending to her hand. His eyes remained fixed on his work, though McGinnis really just wanted him to look at her. She wanted to know what he was thinking, even if deep down she did not trust her reads on him anymore.

"You accused me of trying to kill you."

"You were." His eyes darted to hers for a moment. "That gun oil was suffocating. And really who needs their pistol _that_ clean."

Remy's eyes ghosted over his face, halting at the tempting hint of blue on his lips before running along the sharp high cheekbones, to the more serious bent in his brow. Her favorite feature was camouflaged beneath long thick lashes that made her a little jealous. His eyes were a striking shade of blue; they were so vibrant and bright that the color seemed almost unnatural.

Matt's attention moved up her arm. Cool wet gauze burned across the scrapes and abrasions the fight had left. The sting soothed quickly with an antibiotic ointment and sealed beneath a bandage. Matt's hands moved down the other arm, ending with her knuckles again-holding onto her hand tightly once more as he cleaned and wrapped her right hand.

"I needed a distraction," she finally admitted before he finished.

He looked up at her through those long lashes, gaze piercing.

"In the truck-I needed something to do. Something to keep me from thinking," she explained.

His fingertips under her chin made her anxious anew. But his eyes were not on hers she realized quickly as the sting of the alcohol bit at her cheek. Miller trailed a thin line of medication across the deep scratch along her cheekbone. Once he placed three butterfly bandages on the small would he crossed his arms and loomed over her.

"You should be set. I'll dig you up another suit," he announced quietly.

"Look. For what it's worth, thanks, Matt. I appreciate it." Remy leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. Letting her lips linger there as her thumb stroked over his other cheek briefly.

"Glad to help."

His features seemed tight. Certain that he was nervous,; she could not be certain why. It did not really surprise her when Matt turned and left the room. The boss expected it, even if it was the last thing she wanted. Remy leaned on the sink and tugged off her boots and shimmied out of the destroyed suit before she ran warm water into one of the sinks. The sound of the door startled her.

-6-

Frozen in the doorway, Matt merely stared at her surprised face. He did not need to fetch her a change of clothes; anyone would have done it-Kinzie or Shaundi, either of them would have relieved him of the burden. But he wanted to do it, wanted the temptation, wanted her and all that could entail. He knew more about Remy McGinnis than she realized, and it just made him want to know more. Despite the fact that everything he knew about her had made him think there was nothing to what happened between them, the boss' visit to the cargo bay had sparked the idea in his head that maybe his initial reaction had been a plausible.

"In or out," she said flatly.

When she shut off the water and reached toward the sink, Matt stepped forward. "Let me." His voice cracked when he said it.

"I'm fine. Really. I can handle it."

He tossed the suit on the counter and pushed up his sleeves. "And I just wrapped your hands. If you get the bandages wet, I'll have to wrap them again."

"I'm perfectly capable of wrapping my own hands. I do it all the time," she argued, turning toward him. "And while I appreciate the offer, I can take care of myself."

He noticed her knuckles of her fingers turning white from the tightness of her grasp on the sink. Matt chewed at his bottom lip for a moment, not moving. Then he reached past her and squeezed the water out of the cloth floating in the basin.

"I know you can. But I want to," he declared quietly, leaning over her.

The movement was sharp and Matt was not sure what he saw in her face. It might be the biggest mistake he ever made, but he did not care. There was nothing to lose, and at that moment it felt like everything to gain. He lightly swiped the cloth over her forehead then her cheek, never losing her gaze.

"And before you ask, yes, I'm certain."

If he did not know better, he would have said she looked shocked. He brushed her lips lightly in a chaste light kiss when he leaned forward to dip the cloth in the basin again. The boss continued to look at him the same stunned way as he carefully swiped her exposed skin.

"Turn around," he muttered. "Let me get your back." Saving it for last, because he knew it to be the most bloody. Once done, he leaned into her, mouth at her ear. "All done."

Stepping away, the distance was undesirable. But the debacle the other day had told him one thing-he was not in a rush. The rush confused him, left too many questions unanswered, and if there was anything Matt felt comfortable with it was data, information, intelligence. He needed to have a base of knowledge on which to ground himself; he required a platform to work from. He realized she was a lot like that old system Zinyak had locked him in-even though he had read about her, dug deeply into her life, he was fairly certain he did not know the woman standing just out of reach. And Matt was absolutely positive he did not know Remy's quirks.

When she winced trying to pull her suit up her arms, he closed the distance between them in a step and helped her. Then he pulled the zipper up. The way she looked up at him was warm and inviting. Even so he still clinched his fist before he could bring himself to let his fingers glide over cheek. Dragging them along her jaw, they stopped under her chin, lifting her lips to a more conducive angle. His movement toward her stopped a breath away, while they searched one another's eyes in an attempt to quell any remaining confusion.

When his mouth fitted to hers, Remy let him control this kiss. He held her face gently in both his hands as he tried to convey just how certain he was that he did not want her to distance herself from him. He wanted this chance; Matt wanted her. Her response was more gentle and controlled than he expected given the way she responded the last time he kissed her. Miller was careful in his exchange. He wanted to communicate to her that there was more on his mind than just sex.

"I don't want you to back away. I want this, too," he stated, still cradling her face in his hands. His thumbs stroked her cheekbones in a deliberate manner.

The smile was slight when she nodded. "Okay," she murmured. Her palms pressed against his chest, their movement slow and deliberate. As her fingers stopped at the base of his throat, it was like her touch created a spark. Her kiss completed the circuit.


End file.
